


Witch Binder

by NobleZeda



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: AU people aren't dead, Anal Sex, Angst and Humor, Angst with a Happy Ending, College, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Pack Meetings, Protectiveness, Vampires, Witchcraft, sterek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-02
Updated: 2014-09-21
Packaged: 2018-02-07 03:07:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 29,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1882791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NobleZeda/pseuds/NobleZeda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Stiles neglects to tell his pack about a slightly supernatural and potentially fatal habit he picked up over spring break.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Stiles Returns

The first day back from his vacation over spring break, Stiles was shifty as fuck. He showed up at the pack meeting 25 minutes late, chocolate glazed donut in hand, eyes a mass of sleep-deprivation and mild irritation. This was the first time he’d been back in Beacon Hills for three weeks, after the Sheriff being notified about too many accumulated vacation days that would not be reimbursed. So, a splurge to Barcelona it was.

He had tanned, but his hair was a mess and he had the twitchy fingers of a drug addict. It would almost be peculiar, if he wasn’t already the world’s worst case of ADHD. And he was wearing clothing that was much darker than what he normally donned; shaded pants, black shoes, black shirt, black jean jacket, black circles under his eyes, name it.

That didn’t stop Scott from jumping up like the excitable puppy he was, even being the most reputable Alpha within a one hundred mile radius of the town. “Stiles!” he exclaimed, and if anybody was ever to burst with excitement, Scott had officially come the closest.

Stiles spared him a smile, which Derek found odd, lurking in his corner, because he assumed that the two would be all over their weird friendship bond thing the minute they laid eyes on each other.

“The question is, how did you not hear me coming,” Stiles replied, immediately falling onto the couch next to him with an air of authority. He then managed to get the pack severely off track for the _next_ twenty five-minutes, with vivid recounts of his time spent sat reading at the poolside or diving in the “so blue water, man _so blue”_ of the beach.

Derek couldn’t help but feel a twinge of disgust at this Impostor Stiles. _Stiles,_ while an egotistical dickhead on his best day, did not spice up the air with that _particular_ flavor of douchery. While he was confident, he was not so confident that he held a minor air of superiority such as his current one. That was the moment that Derek knew something was at least slightly off.

“Ooooh, Stiles,” Allison said lavishly, then did an awkward sort of mock-sensual shimmying. “Did you meet any cute, exotic girls?”

Stiles considered her for a moment, almost smirking, then said, “Well, there was one that sort of captured me,” then chuckled to himself. “Not in the supernatural way, obviously. It’s dumb that I have to clarify that. Nah, but she was cute, and we kind of hit it off. She recommended a book that I’m currently reading and I literally have not seen her since.”

“Well, did you exchange numbers?” Allison followed up.

“No international plan,” Stiles said, then shrugged and pulled a _what can you do_ face. “Doesn’t matter anyway, right? I didn’t go there for girls. I went there for some time out of this supernatural hell-hole.”

Scott put two fingers to his ear. “This just in: reports of heavy bullshit from Stiles Stilinski, who claims that he does not wish to fornicate with foreign women,” he said airily and over-dramatically.

Stiles then resolved all suspicion by making a bad joke about “foreign-icating.” But Derek still wasn’t convinced.

 

+++

 

It was later that night, almost ten, when things got even stranger. Derek was on his laptop, chugging the hours away, when his phone vibrated next to him for the first time in days. Stiles was texting him.

_Pipe burst in my house. there's water everywhere._   
_You have a place i could crash tonight?_

After the initial shock, which involved mostly staring at the phone gripped awkwardly in his hand to see if it was some sort of an illusion, Derek just called Stiles, because he knew that it would be easier to have this conversation out loud than by text. Stiles picked up after the first ring.

"Hey. What's up?" he asked. It was the first time Derek and Stiles had ever had a phone conversation that didn't revolve around their imminent deaths.

Derek, direct as an arrow, jumped straight to the point. "What's wrong with staying at Scott's house tonight?"

"Scott and Allison are both MIA. Probably together. Turns out Lydia and Isaac both like the same obscure band, so they've got some bonding time going down, I guess. Boyd and Erica both scare the shit out of me. Jackson is, one, sort of in London, and, two, hates me for many valid reasons, so I don't think that'll work out. Also, Danny said no. You're literally my last option," Stiles explained. Derek could practically see the meaningless hand gestures going down on the other end of the line.

"What about your Dad?" Derek asked, eyebrows raised. There was no way Derek was inviting the Sheriff, and more importantly one half of the reason _Stiles was bred_ into his home.

"Dad's got a couch and a coffee maker at work. He can stay at the station. I, however, for many reasons and long-standing social restrictions, cannot," Stiles explained patiently. Derek sighed, rubbed his temples with this index finger and thumb. "So have you got a one-night pillow on your sofa that I can borrow?"

"What the hell is a... Fine, Stiles," Derek caved. "Just get over here soon. I'm going to shower. Let yourself in." And then he hung up, closed his laptop, and skulked into the bathroom.

He heard Stiles open the front door mid-way through his shower. Derek kept to himself, unswayed by the sonic hearing. He listened to Stiles set a clunky bag down, heard him pad around the apartment, probably investigating his temporary dwelling. Derek felt a hint of regret shoot up through him for his own stupidity. Why on Earth should he have let Stiles stay the night? But then, it was just a few hours, and they'd both be unconscious for most of them. How much damage could the kid possibly do?

Derek shut his shower off and stepped onto his linoleum tile bathroom floor, reached for his towel, wrapped it around his waist. The bathroom door clicked as it opened, left a resonating thud in his ears as it shut. "Stiles?" Derek called. He stepped into the living room, but Stiles was either suddenly invisible, or he had finally learned to play hide and seek convincingly.

He emerged suddenly from the hallway containing one of Derek's two bookshelves and three mostly bare closets, a green apple displayed prominently, with a large bite mark taken out of it. "Saw the bowl. Hope you don't mind. Of course, I'll be happy to indemnify," Stiles said, grinning.

Derek rolled his eyes. "If you're going to watch TV or something, keep it low. Low. As in, subtitles needed. I don't care what you eat. I'll be up at seven. Don't expect a wake up call," Derek said.

"Nice hips," Stiles acknowledged, with a jump of his eyebrows and a half-gesture with the hand clutching the apple.

"Stiles."

"Yeah, yeah, alright, I heard you," Stiles groaned. "That whole sleep thing? That gonna happen now or d'you wanna fuck real quick? I mean, I assume that's why you came out in only a towel. You've got a head start on me..." Stiles stripped his jacket and threw it on the couch. Derek growled, turned on his heel and slammed his bedroom door behind him.

Derek heard Stiles moving about his house as he got dressed, the movements almost... frantic. He could smell something rushed about Stiles. As much as it pained Derek to admit it, he was concerned about the brat. But not concerned enough to take any time hurrying with getting dressed.

He opened the door, and again Stiles peeked out from that same hallway. "Forget something?" Stiles asked, as though _he_ were the one hosting  _Derek_.

"You did, actually," Derek answered. "Super sensory. What are you doing back there?" He took a few steps forward, and Stiles's eyes flashed wide for a fraction of a second before he fixed on another grin.

"Bathroom?" he asked coolly.

"You've been to my house before. You know where it is. Next excuse," Derek snapped casually. "Or, you know, the truth might work, too."

Stiles sighed, his shoulders slumping down, along with the erasure of his persona. "I'm looking for a book."

Derek nodded. "And I take it you don't mean Stephen King," he muttered. Stiles shook his head. "Out with it."

"Alright, it's... well, I don't know exactly. I just know I need something and, well, I, uh, I figure it'll be here," Stiles admits.

"What. book."

"Now, keep in mind, it's purely theoretical-"

"Stiles!"

"Witchcraft, alright? I need something on witchcraft."

Derek's eyebrows shot up, his arms unfolded, he took a step forward and his lips parted slightly. "Why would you... _theoretically..._ need to know about witchcraft?" Derek exaggerated the word so that Stiles knew he wasn't convinced.

Stiles's eyes were honest. "Derek, you never know what we're going up against - including witches. I want to be prepared," he insisted, shifting his weight forward for a moment, before falling back down, as if he had already accepted defeat to Derek. "I thought - I thought you might have something useful. After all, I am the research guy."

Derek looked to be at least considering this, which was definitely preferable to grabbing Stiles by the back of the head and slamming his face into the wall. "You, theoretically, thought that I had a book on witchcraft so you flooded your house as an excuse to get here rather than asking, 'Derek, do you have a book on witchcraft'?" Derek asked, and he re-crossed his arms and re-lowered his eyebrows.

"What makes you think I flooded my-?" Stiles began shrilly, but one look from Derek silenced him. "Okay. Okay. Fine. So... do you have one?"

Derek scrutinized Stiles. At this point, Stiles wished the roles were reversed, and that _he_ had the built-in lie detector embedded within his DNA. Derek raised his chin, looked Stiles square in the eye. "No."

Stiles groaned. "Then I broke my house for nothing?"

"You're acting like I betrayed you. I never told you to rip open your pipes. You could have just _said_ that your pipe burst. Why would you dismantle your house?" Derek asked. The implied _you dumb shit_ left off the end of that sentence hung heavy in the air.

"Well, this way I wasn't lying," Stiles reasoned, throwing his hand out for emphasis. "So, I think we should just call this whole disastrous attempt at communication a night and go to bed."

Derek raised an eyebrow, turned, and went to shut himself in his room.

 

+++

 

It was at around quarter to three when Derek was woken up. Initially, he thought it was his bladder or something of the sort, but he quickly realized instead that it was a twisting feeling in his gut that was indicative of something much worse. Better-than-moderate supernatural powers in the area. The area, meaning inside his walls. He jumped out of bed and landed lithely on the floor in front of his door, stayed in his scanning prance for just over a second before he was up and opening the door, bursting into the living room.

Stiles flew backward on the couch like Derek had slammed into him, sending the beam of a flashlight skirting across the room and temporarily blinding Derek's maladjusted eyes. He let out a stifled shout, shut his eyes and reached blindly for the light switch to left of his bedroom door, ended up hitting it with the broad side of his hand and illuminating the room with orange, pulsing light.

"Stiles! What the hell are you still doing up?" he bellowed, uncovering his eyes and waiting for his pupils to dilate normally.

"Well - I - I -pwhuff! I could ask you the same question!" Stiles yelled back, slightly more heart-attacky. There was a half-bunched, half spread blanket thrown over the couch, which Stiles was glancing down and kicking at, mock-discreetly.

"And what are you hiding?" Derek followed up with, glaring at the blanket suspiciously, as though he could bore holes through it with only his eyes. Stiles's unnaturally dark face flushed white.

Stiles looked down at the blanket, then up at Derek, then down and back up again. He said nothing. He didn't move, apart from his mouth falling open. 

Derek dashed forward ("Wait, Derek  _no_ -!"), and when met by resistance ("- _please,_ Derek, _don't_ -"), he pushed a hand firmly against Stiles's chest ("- _God,_ Derek,  _no_ don't-"), and reached down with his other hand to rip the blanket back. Stiles's shrieks stopped dead, and the both of their gazes darted to and stuck on what was revealed. It was without a doubt what had woken Derek up, giving off the illusion of shaking from its power.

The book was old and brown, leather, held together on one side by a series of black rings, spaced evenly. The pages, from what Derek could see, were at least slightly yellow, and held together by the clasps gingerly at best. He snatched it.

"No, Derek, I _mean_ it, _please_ give it b-"

"Stiles, shut the hell up," Derek said lowly, hand still planted on the teenager's chest. He turned the book over in his hand. The pause was deadly long and deadly tense. "Either you found my witchcraft book that _I didn't know about,_ or where the hell did you get this?"

"Derek, it's not even-"

"Yes it  _is even_ , Stiles!" Derek yelled. "It's  _dangerous_! I don't care what you say you had it for - you don't know, don't have any  _idea_ what you're dealing with! Theoretical or not, yours or not, you need to  _get rid of it_.  _Now_." Derek pushed Stiles back slightly to prove his point, but the force and the shock of the situation was enough to send him toppling backwards. He seemed to realize what was happening just before it did, and his hand made a wild motion in the air. _  
_

Derek reached out to catch him by the shirt, missed by the scraping of nails against fabric, but it looked like he didn't need to bother. As if of its own accord, the previously strewn blanket slithered expertly over the couch and gathered in a cushion-esque pile, which Stiles fell into with a poof. Derek dropped the book. Stiles took his chance and scrounged for it; remarkably, Derek wasn't fast enough to intercept him.

"Stiles!" he shouted, made a grab for the book. Stiles dodged him, sprinted for the kitchen with heavy, slapping footfalls. His escape was short-lived, however, as Derek cornered him almost instantaneously. Literally, actually, against the granite counter top with a thick, toned arm on each side of the other's skinny frame. "Stiles." Harder this time, teeth gritted.

"Ok _a_ y," Stiles relented, visibly shaken. He was still clutching the book tightly to him. "Okay..."

"Explain," Derek said. He withdrew his prison-lock but took no steps back, instead crossed his arms so tightly that he probably resembled a twisted pretzel of rage. His elbows were practically nudging Stiles's shoulders.

Stiles took a heavy, shaking breath. "Okay. I was doing some research while I was in Barcelona. Thought we could do with a freshen up to our library, okay? I ran into a girl there. She gave me a book and took me to a... well, you know. Just your, uh, generic... supernatural club. I met some people, they gave me some tips. I told them I was a human in a werewolf pack and they were pretty evenly divisive over laughing at me or bowing to me. And a lot of them were actually really decent. I figured it couldn't be that bad. So I opened the book, okay? It was interesting stuff. And every time I did I just kept flashing back to snarky vampires laughing at me or kanimas threatening to poison my drink because I 'didn't count' and I... I thought maybe th-this was my chance to... to count. I don't want to be useless forever, Derek. Or until you - uh, all of you decide I'm not worth it anymore and you chuck me aside and leave me t-"

"Stiles," Derek cut off, a harsh whisper. "You're." He died off, shook himself, and started again. "You're not - worthless. You don't have to - You'd never have to do anything like that.  _Ever_. Witchcraft is - well, you know it has a bad rap. And that's for a  _reason_." _  
_

"I'm _fine_ , Derek," Stiles said. "Don't you trust me to handle myself? I'm not a kid, you know, despite the fact that you may still see buzz-cut little freak running around. I'm not going to get caught up in anything-"

"You don't know th-"

"Look, would you quit cutting me off when I'm trying to say som-"

"No, Stiles! How do you even know if you can trust the girl who gave you that?" Derek accused, gesturing to the book with malice.

"Because she saved my life!" Stiles shouted back, matching temper and tone. "I stayed out late one night and some Shapeshifters were nearby - I wasn't - I wasn't looking where I was going and they - there was some mix up and - she saved me, okay? And her name was Agatha, thanks. And she was a hell of a lot more accepting than you're being right now, as a matter of fact. Like a blonde... busty... female Scott."

"Scott won't like this either," Derek growled.

"Which is why you shouldn't tell him," Stiles _suggested._ "Look, I know what I'm doing. Just... here." He nursed the book away from his chest, as though afraid that Derek might take it from him again. "The beginning is all sorts of instructions and prologues for beginners, okay? It's not even dark magic. I haven't even  _opened_ the section on curses - alright, well, maybe-"

"Stiles, you're reading a book  _full of cur_ -"

"No, _don't yell at me_ like that!" Stiles shouted, his turn to interrupt. "I'm a sentient fucking human being, Derek! And stop acting like you give a rat's ass about what I do, anyway! With you, it's always  _shove Stiles into the nearest wall and threaten him_! Maybe I want  _my_ time! Maybe I want my time to stop feeling weak, Derek! Ok- _a_ y?" His voice cracked on the last word, and he hated himself for it. Derek's resolve seemed to weaken, the slightest bit.

"Hard as it may be to believe, Stiles, I don't want you hurt," Derek said, but it seemed as if he was attempting to speak through vomit coming out of his mouth. "You're... important. To the pack. To. me."

Stiles frowned. "Then let me be more important. I can  _do_ this Derek. You're making a big deal out of-"

"I  _care_ about you, Stiles! Okay? I, as stupid as it may damn well seem, really fucking care about you a lot," Derek nearly shouted. He pushed Stiles back, so that Stiles's head nearly cracked against the wooden cabinet as it made contact. 

Derek was more rough with kissing than what Stiles had ever previously imagined - which was _astounding,_ because Stiles had thought about kissing Derek Hale in nearly every way possible. But now, this first time, it was angry kissing. It was teeth and power and passion, latching onto Stiles's lips. Stiles fought back.

He set the book on the counter, deftly, and wound one hand around Derek's waist and the other around the back of his head and into his hair. There were lots of slurping noises, and their faces twisted in a way that Stiles wouldn't think would be comfortable, but was actually  _pretty fucking superb_. Derek's hands locked on Stiles's hips, dragged him closer, and Stiles felt every point of contact like a welt on his skin.

And then it had to stop, just when Derek was seeming truly, painfully eager, because Stiles's lung were burning worse than the Hale fire, and he had to breathe. Derek's hands moved to the sides of Stiles's face, pulled him closer, mixed their breath together as their foreheads met. "So, just... don't, okay?" Derek asked, almost sweetly.

"You make a very persuasive argument," Stiles said, heart hammering, with a laugh. "But..."

"Stiles,  _no_ -"

"I  _want_ to, Derek," Stiles insisted, and if he thought that a little bit of sexual pleasure would sway Derek Hale's decision making, he was disappointed. Derek was probably just as startled, for the opposite. The werewolf growled, leaped for Stiles's lips again, but Stiles surprised even himself by pulling back. "Stop. Say you're with me on this."

Derek sighed. "I can't do that, Stiles. I don't like it."

"Well, all due respect, _Derek,_ it's not your decision," Stiles snapped, heating up. He pushed himself as far back from Derek as he could fit, which wasn't much, and his hand found the book once more, gripped it tightly. "So... So tell me you're fine with it or else I'm leaving. I'll sleep on a bench. I'll stay up all night."

"Stiles, don't do that," Derek bartered, shaking his head. "Put the book away. Get on the couch. Go to bed."

"Say you're fine with it."

" _No_ , Stiles. I'm  _not_ fine with it!" Derek yelled, slammed his hand flat against the cupboard next to Stiles's head. Stiles flinched, and Derek seemed to realize his mistake as the scent of fear struck his nose. He stepped back, eyes wide. Stiles slid by without a sound, without stumbling.

"Stiles."

The younger one said nothing, just walked into the adjoining living room. He picked up his bag from the floor, strapped it over his shoulder.

"Stiles!"

He walked out the door.

So. A lot. Stiles staying over can do a lot of damage in one night.


	2. Vampires

Derek eventually got it together and managed to text Scott the majority of what went on. Scott went out, found Stiles, and took care of it. Derek, on the other hand, shut himself up in his room and didn't leave the house for about two weeks.

The next pack meeting forced them all together again, and there was obviously internal riffraff that they should have been handling. But Derek, emotionally stunted as he was, chose to ignore it and act as though nothing was wrong. Even though Stiles was apparently ditching. Again. Derek didn't blame him, although he had to look as if there wasn't a searing pain in his gut at the thought.

Scott looked incredibly shifty. Derek had to wonder if he knew what had happened, if Stiles had told him about the book, when Derek hadn't. Lots of glances were thrown in every direction, but nobody seemed to be willing to point out the elephant in the room.

That is, until Stiles came traipsing in the door like a returning conqueror. Derek felt his heart rate triple in speed, and every pair of werewolf eyes turned instantly to him in response. Scott's mouth hung open in concern, the unspoken  _Derek_? quite evident. Derek ignored it. He stared at Stiles, who was making a point of not noticing.

"What's up, bitches?" were the first words Derek heard Stiles speak in days and days. He planted himself on the couch between Scott and Isaac, and the elephant  quadrupled in size. Derek alone was practically perched on the edge of his seat, strained tight as bow drawn back to its peak, resisting the urge to bolt at any second. Deep down, he felt a steady rush of relief at seeing Stiles. Although the dark spots under his eyes hadn't faded.

The rest of the pack must have returned his greetings, but Derek wasn't listening. He tore his gaze from Stiles and locked his eyes on the carpet, determined to relax. If he squinted, he could see himself turning less tense.

"Derek?" Boyd asked from across the room.

Derek's eyes shot up to him much quicker than he might have otherwise preferred. Every eye, werewolf or no, was trained on him at this point. Including Stiles's.

"What." Derek let his frustration seep through. Alpha or not, he still commanded the respect of his pack. It didn't matter if Boyd was bigger than him (which was still difficult to believe).

"You okay, man?" Boyd ventured. The tension in the room spiked. Even the humans, without their magnified senses, could feel it just fine. It Derek had hackles, they would have been raised.

"Fine," Derek spat. He forced his back to lean into the chair's rest, but it wasn't comfortable. The stares he was receiving did not lessen in intensity. 

"No, Boyd's..." Erica began, but then seemed to realize that Boyd did not make a valid claim, so she attempted another tactic. "You've been weird all day. Talk to us. You always said pack was closer than family."

Derek grimaced. "I thought the point of this pack meeting was to discuss weeding out the vampire nest in the reserve. Not talk about Derek's problems. Trust me, if we had a year, we couldn't finish," he said, almost like a threat. Erica shrunk back in her seat. Perhaps she still saw Derek as some sort of authority.

"We could talk about Derek's  _current_ problems," Scott suggested gently.

"Or we could not," Derek persisted. He felt a growl rising in his throat. He wouldn't talk about his problem, one: because _he was Derek_. He didn't talk about his problems. He didn't acknowledge his problems. And two: the source of his problems was literally present, sitting on Derek's couch and wearing a red hoodie. Scott relented at once.

"Okay, so, Isaac, you were the one who saw them," Scott began, steering the train back on track. "About how many vampires did it seem like there were in the nest?"

"Well, uh," Isaac began, hands clasped in front of him, staring at nothing as he recalled the memories, "it was sort of an accident how I found them. I was just on my rounds, like you told me to do, and I caught a scent, so I turned left at one of the trails to the reserve, and underneath this big sort of over-leaning rock there was a den, and maybe five or six vampires sleeping. It was sunset, so I ran out of there, but I ran into two on my way back. They attacked me. I killed one of them." He glanced up at Scott, almost as if ashamed, or scared of how Scott might react. Scott's gaze stayed level, and he nodded encouragingly. "The other one got pissed, but distracted enough that I could get away. I'm sure it got my scent, but I didn't leave it in great condition."

Scott looked pensive, smiled to Isaac understandingly. 

"So, how do we get rid of _vampires_?" Lydia asked, stretching the word so that it was very implied that she found her life ridiculous in that she was forced to say and hear sentences like that on a near-daily basis.

"We don't want to kill them if we don't have to," Scott interjected. "First, I want to try to see if we can't get them to go peacefully. It's what happens if they refuse that we need to worry about."

"Well," Stiles spoke up, contributing for the first time. Derek's ears perked. "All of that stuff about burning in the sun is fake, thanks so much, Buffy. But it does slow them down. A lot. But, you know, since they aren't technically  _alive_ , we can't necessarily kill them. We can only stop their bodies from working. So stuff like decapitation works. But that's pretty grisly. We could starve them, but depending on the last time they fed, that could take weeks, and get noisy pretty fast. Not to mention dangerous."

"Is there anything else?" Lydia asked. "I'm not a big fan of  _slicing people's heads off_."

"No, neither am I," Stiles agreed. "And you would have heard that if you had let me finish. You know how werewolves have wolfs bane? Well, vampires are kind of like that. Their digestion is screwed up, so they can't eat normal foods. So if we can brew together a bunch of herbs and, like, _inject_ them with it, I guess, it should do the trick as a poison pretty much. But we need strong shit. Like, mint, vanilla, cinnamon. Strong shit like that." He accompanied the explanation with many descriptive and slightly alarming gestures.

"How do you know this?" Allison asked.

Stiles looked at her curiously. "It's obvious, isn't it?" he asked. "The venom they were bitten in virtually rewrote their DNA. They don't produce the same enzymes anymore. Their appearance change-"

"No, but I mean, are you sure this is reliable information?" Allison cut off. "We don't want to burst in there with nothing but plant juice and hope for the best."

Stiles's face hardens. "I met vampires. A bunch of them. When I was in Barcelona. They couldn't eat or drink anything on the normal menu -  _they ordered bloody maries made of actual blood_ ," Stiles emphasized, and then he was back to normal. The joke seemed to ease the tension slightly. "But that's not me saying that having a couple of machetes or something handy isn't a good idea."

 

+++

 

For some  _ungodly reason_ , Derek and Stiles are put to ride in the same car on the way to the reserve. As if emotional stress is even the  _last_ thing Derek needs before taking down a pissed off horde of the undead. Scott, Allison, Erica, and Boyd are taking Allison's car, and Isaac is taking Scott's motorbike, with Lydia riding at his back, because the two seemed to have quickly bonded over the past two weeks. Stiles's Jeep was currently in the shop for the umpteenth time, so he had no choice but to hunker down and take the piss. The passenger door hit shut with a thud. Derek flinched.

Stiles didn't seem to notice, merely reached over and took as long to clip in his seat belt as socially acceptable. When he looked up, he stared ahead and sighed.

"So, you going to drive? They're sort of expecting us to follow," he said, not exactly provoking, but definitely not conversationally. Derek wanted to bang his own head against the dashboard until he couldn't feel anything.

"I didn't mean to upset you the other night, Stiles," he said lowly, as he twisted the key in the ignition and started to drive. They were just far back enough and Scott's bike was just noisy enough that Derek was sure they wouldn't be heard, even assuming that the others had their werewolf ears on.

"You did not accomplish your goal at all," Stiles informed him, and this time, the bitch tone was evident. Still, he stared evenly ahead.

"Yeah, I get that, considering we haven't spoken in two weeks," Derek replied. "I'm sor-"

"Don't act like that affects you!" Stiles complained, throwing his arms out, forward. He was different now. Steadier, somehow. More controlled and calm in himself. Wearier. Less Stiles. "We never spoke, Derek! We never had conversations that didn't revolve around life or death! Hell, I don't even know your favorite color!" Stiles landed back in the chair fast, with a squeak and a thwack. His spine shot him back forward again. That, and his final sentence, made his argument slightly less daunting.

Derek paused. "Brown," he answered at length.

Stiles raised his eyebrows. "Brown?" he repeated.

"Brown," Derek confirmed, his eyebrows set. "Now you know my favorite color."

This seemed to stun Stiles into silence, as if he hadn't been expecting Derek to actually share that much personal information. Derek couldn't blame him.

"What's yours?" Derek pressed.

Things were apparently mildly resolved between them now, because Stiles launched into a long rant about colors and how he couldn't pick just  _one_ without an immense span of time for though regarding his current mood, social status, and threat to his life. Ultimately, he decided on red, when Derek was almost grinning, though still trying to hide it.

"Would you ever paint the Jeep red?" Derek asked when he was done. Stiles appeared to get personally offended by this question.

"If Roscoe had hair, I would not touch a single strand of it, not even on the most dented hubcap. Roscoe is perfect," he said, like an army general making their point clear. Derek nodded sportingly.

"Understood," he affirmed, as they pulled in with the rest of the group just outside the border of the reserve.

 

+++

 

Locating the vampire nest's den, in all honesty, was rather easy. Isaac led the way, and as he was rather lithe, it was a matter of minutes before the pack was coming on it, just as the sun was reaching its climax in the sky. 

The rock was huge, jagged, and gray, and hung over a gap in the earth that led down like a cave. It was impossibly dark for anyone that didn't have paranormal vision, so, three-eighths of the pack. The silence was very apparent, with Isaac lingering back so the vampires, if still there, didn't catch his scent and spring into attack mode. Scott was peering expertly down the the Crevice to Hell.

"Are they still there?" Stiles asked quietly, two syringes (helpfully "donated" by Scott's Mom, unbeknownst to her) held carefully at his sides, one in each hand, poised to strike. Allison and Lydia were both standing closer to the edge than him, each with identical syringes filled with dark-green, very unappealing looking fluid. Allison had several daggers strapped to her person in various places, and Lydia was clutching tightly to a long machete that Stiles didn't want to ask how they pack had come to own.

Scott gave a single nod. "Sleeping, looks like. At least ten, so we're outnumbered."

"D'you think they're really going to leave if we ask nicely?" Erica asked skeptically from Derek's right.

"We have to try," Scott said seriously. He cleared his throat, straightened his back, then shouted into the pit, "This is the Alpha of the McCall pack. You're on our territory. We've come prepared for a fight, but we'd like to not have it come to that. Please... go somewhere else." He looked back and shrugged, and if the sudden rustling coming from the darkness was any indication, there were about a dozen vampires all disturbed from their beauty sleep who would not take kindly to being told to scram.

The first face appeared from the intense shadow, white and perfect, and stepped up to the very brink of shadow. It was a man. He was tall, lean, and had a seriously square jaw. His hair was dark and spread out in every direction. Vampire bedhead. And he didn't look to be in any mood for entertaining guests.

"I'm Clause. I'll speak for this clan," he said, and his voice rang out like gold-turned-sound. He scrutinized Scott with the air of utmost suspicion, his mouth curved south in a frown.

"I'm Scott," Scott said, straightening his back. "We'd like you to leave. You're currently in our territory."

Clause cocked his head. "You're a child. I'm hundreds of years old. My clan is stronger. And we outnumber you. What makes you believe you can come to me with an ultimatum?" he asked, almost laughing. Not in the friendly way.

Scott's eyes flashed red in warning. "We don't want to fight, Clause," he said dangerously.

"Speak for yourself," Erica called up. Clause's eyes darted to her, then he seemed to catch sight of Isaac. His eyes brightened and his lips twitched up.

"You killed my mate," he said, almost airily.

"You attacked first," Isaac retorted. "Like Scott said, this is our territory."

Clause's eyes came full circle, landed back on Scott, as more faces emerged from behind him. "You want to put your name on this land? We'll write it in your blood after we kill you."

"We don't drink mutts, you see," came a voice from behind him. "Tastes too much like wet dog."

Clause silenced the voice without even looking back. A mere jerk of his head, and the tense quiet reasserted itself. "If you want this land, Scott," he said, smiling as he backed himself down into the dark hole, "come and take it from us."

Scott glanced back at the pack, swallowed. He met eyes with Stiles, gave a single nod, and turned back. "You're going to regret saying that, Clause."

Erica started sprinting before Scott gave the actual order, threw herself into the mass in a flash of claws and fangs. There were terrible, gut-wrenching snarls coming from both sides as they clashed and brawled. Stiles was the only one who initially hung back. Only after everyone was past him did he call out to Lydia, throw her his syringes, and extend his left hand.

He stared at it, then with his right hand began to swiftly draw several lines in the air with his middle and index finger. Almost instantaneously, from his palm burst a great shimmering of light, which then dimmed down until it was manageable. Meaning that his eyes weren't  _completely_ throbbing.

Stiles took a hesitant step forward, concentrating extensively on guiding the light forward with his hand, until it was reaching the depths of the would-be cave, and a chorus of hisses rang out like a room full of leaking pipes. Stiles saw vampire after vampire shield their faces, watched their skin start to bubble and crackle, glared through the light as the confused werewolves turned and saw, too. Scott was not deterred. Erica, Boyd, and Isaac quickly turned and kept fighting.

Only Derek shut down completely, staring at Stiles as though he was feeling personally betrayed. His hands dropped slowly to his sides, he took heaving breaths, and his lumbering jaw dragged in and out. His eyes were glued to Stiles. Hurt. Stiles couldn't afford to care at the moment.

He took several more steps forward, until every corner of the cave was lit. Some vampires, those that were still alive, were attempting to flee the den by pushing past Stiles, but he struck out an arm, caught them, and threw them back at the feet of his pack, who took care of them in whatever way they had at their disposal. That was when Stiles saw Clause charge for Derek, perhaps before even Derek noticed himself.

Stiles's brilliant light when out in the span of an instant, as he switched tactics. His two index fingers extended toward Derek, he made a new gesture this time, eyes wild, just as Clause's body struck.

The vampire extended fangs and brought them down on Derek's neck. They scraped harmlessly, effortlessly off, as though Derek was covered in extremely tough saran wrap. This jolted Derek back into action, and he reached up with clawed fingers, straight into Clause's middle, and raked his fingers up until they cut through his throat, lashed through his face. Blood splattered all over him, from head to toe, and he threw the carcass aside in disgust, stood.

Stiles's eyes were still maladjusted, so he stared at his palm and repeated his earlier gesture. The sudden flash of light caused several shouts, but Stiles quickly dimmed it so that it shone only between the cracks in his fingers. He looked up just as Isaac dropped the last vampire, then stood, panting.

Scott spoke first. "Is anybody hurt?"

There were several calls of, "no." Scott seemed to shrink from relief.

"Let's get back out to the light," Lydia suggested.

"It looks like we're fine right here," came Derek's growl, almost venomous. Stiles didn't want to feel guilty, but he couldn't help it.

 

+++

 

One awkward ride home and fifteen minutes later, Derek emerged from the shower, still boring holes through Stiles with only his harsh, betrayed gaze. Erica, Isaac, and Lydia were still hanging around, but the rest of the pack had dispersed after the closing meeting. Some were cleaning up the mess they had left behind, others making sure that the rest of the territory remained un-breached.

Derek came out in a fresh green shirt, blood-free, and denim jeans. He looked pissed. Stiles knew that he didn't owe Derek anything, but he still couldn't help but to feel bad.

"Well?" Derek asked, crossing his arms.

"Well what?" Stiles asked, standing up from the couch.

"Clearly we've both got some things to talk about. Explain what's happened over the past month," Derek ordered. He nodded for Stiles to sit down again. Stiles didn't.

"You know what's been happening, Derek," Stiles growled.

"No. No, there's something else," Derek said resolutely. "You've been acting differently - don't think I haven't noticed."

Stiles looked suddenly alarmed, but he worked quickly to cover it. "That's not - that's something different, Derek. It's not because of what I've been doing," Stiles said quickly.

"Anything you want to put on the table now before I find out anyway?" Derek raised his eyebrows. Stiles felt a small sliver of hate emerge inside of himself.

"You're seriously not ever going to give me a chance with this?" Stiles asked. "Even now, after I just  _saved your life_ you don't trust me to know what I'm doing?" He felt his eyes start to burn in the way that meant tears would be coming soon if he didn't watch himself.

"I don't know  _what_ you did in that den, Stiles, but it wasn't-"

"I  _protected you_!" Stiles shouted, his voice so powerful and full of frustration that for a moment Derek is actually taken aback. His furious face is stripped, left with shock and bewilderment.

"What?"

"What I did in the cave. When I stopped the light. I was casting a spell to protect you," Stiles enunciated clearly. Derek was clearly holding back a flinch when Stiles said 'casting a spell.'

"From Clause?"

"Obviously, dumbass."

Derek took a moment to digest this new information. "What else can you do?" he asked. Not entirely curious, but nor was it angry.

Stiles hesitated, but then decided that this might be his only chance to convince Derek that what he was doing was okay. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out the leather book, beckoned for Derek to sit down on the couch with him. "D'you have a pen?" he asked the werewolf.

Derek looked around the room, then decided, "There's one by the notepad in the kitchen. Come on." He picked Stiles up gingerly by the elbow and brought him into the kitchen in a way that was nearly escorting. The remaining members of the pack must have split when the argument had started to get heated, because they were no longer present. Stiles didn't care at the moment. He liked the territory he and Derek were in right now. The cautious familiarity. The resolving of the Big Dangerous Argument, but not quite in the Admittance of Mutual Feelings spot yet.

He reached for the pen and brought the notepad closer to him. Derek tore off the top page and set it aside, gesture for Stiles to go ahead.

"Alright," Stiles said, then hunched over and began drawing. "Now  _this_? This is the sigil for protection. What you do is you draw the sigils in air, and it summons the, well, the magic. So when I drew this symbol in the air, it brought you protection."

Stiles drew back and revealed a circle, balancing on two lines like a tent, with a line streaking through the circle from before the lower left to past the top right edge.

"Well, I mean, it's a basic one, but you get the gist so far. I'm not very advanced, yet," Stiles admitted, almost embarrassed. "And you know what's cool? It's actually almost like a phonetic alphabet. If you add to this sigil a little-" Stiles hunched back over and went back to drawing "-you get the word 'pact'." When he drew back, the line had a half-ring that stretched underneath the two lines below the circle. Above the circle were two more lines, sprouting in different directions but not touching the circle itself. "And then what's even cooler is the part that got lost in translation. The sigil for 'pack' which is kind of useless, because it's not really a spell, but still cool to know."

Stiles reached over and redrew his original symbol, but this time, instead of connecting the ends of the line underneath the circle, he stretched the curve out above it, and dragged two lines over it.

"Pack," he reiterated, for emphasis.

"Why would they make a symbol for 'pack' if it was useless?" Derek inquired, staring from the writing pad to Stiles.

"Well, they wouldn't," Stiles explained. "They didn't. What happened was, a witch showed 'pact' to an Alpha, and the Alpha didn't remember it correctly when they brought it back to their pack. The pack took the Alpha's word for it, obviously, so it ended up _creating_ the sigil. All that really matters with magic is intent. It's kind of like when Shakespeare made up his own words. Or wait! It's like 'selfie'. You know?"

Derek sighed. He had to change the subject to what had been gnawing at him for the past few minutes, so that Stiles didn't work himself into a good mood only to have Derek immediately crush it. "Stiles, when I asked you what's been going on, you said the way you've been acting didn't have anything to do with magic. What is it?" Derek asked gingerly, eyeing the notepad warily.

Stiles looked down, then back up. He took a deep breath, then shut his eyes. When he opened them, the first thing he did was train them on Derek.

"The... the reason my Dad was able to afford Barcelona was because he dipped into my college fund," Stiles admitted. "An-and I told him he could, because I was accepted a year early. Full scholarship."

The words didn't quite click in Derek's brain. "What... does that mean?"

"It means I'm going to college next year, Derek. I'm moving out at the end of the summer," Stiles said guiltily.


	3. College

Derek was inadvertently learning magic.

Stiles was coming over for more than pack meetings now. He was showing up when nobody else was around. Since the night they had kissed (now over two months ago), nothing else had happened between Stiles and Derek. They hadn't even talked about it. A couple of times they had skirted around the edge of the topic, but never outright discussed it. But Stiles kept coming over, even if it was just he and Derek present.

And the conversations almost always turned to magic. Stiles would take out his book, slightly less cautiously every time, and he would talk about it for as long as Derek could go without interrupting him.

Derek could name a large portion of sigils on sight, and a greater number with a bit of helpful prodding from Stiles, who seemed ecstatic that Derek was embracing this new side of him. But Derek wasn't. He was still dangerously certain that this would not be good for Stiles. He wanted the  _old_ Stiles back, hyperactive bastard even as he was. Especially as he was.

Derek could actually  _smell_ how excited Stiles got every time the topic was brought up. And Derek hardly ever discouraged him.

Today, however, something was different. Stiles came in and sat down, and from one simple second of being in the room with him, Derek could tell that he had been up all night, obviously poring over the book, judging by how he was shaking - practically vibrating - as he sat on the couch.

"Stiles-" Derek said, getting ready to tear him a new one, but Stiles met his gaze with a look that made Derek... not.

"I wasn't doing anything  _bad_ , Derek," Stiles defended. "I was just... interested. I started doing some studying, and then the next thing I knew, it was five. So I figured that I might as well not tease myself with just two hours. So I went back to studying." Stiles did a sudden intake of breath, like he'd been struck by a genius thought. "I learned this really awesome sigil, and it helps me to memorize the book more. I'm practically all the way through, now. It's just a matter of  _learning_ -"

"Show me," Derek said, but he said it in the way a construction worker wanted to see some gentle work done. He said it in a way that didn't convey support. Stiles pretended not to notice.

He reached into his back pocket and pulled up the book, began flipping through the pages until he found something that seemed appealing only to him. The pages he flipped past were littered with pictures in neat columns and rows. Each picture was unique, and underneath it was inscribed the supposed power it was said to have.

On some pages, in between sigils or margins were handwritten notes and guides, describing what and what not to do, detailing the full effects for studying meant to be done before casting. Derek wondered who wrote them, and who they had intended to read them.

Stiles rested the book on Derek's coffee table and pointed out a sigil in the middle column of the page, close to the center. It looked almost like a demented smiley face, but with x's for eyes and tilted at an awkward angle, with a long line between the "eyes" as a sort of "nose."

But Derek was distracted, because to the immediate left of it was a sigil marked only as 'control.' It was a half circle, with two lines sticking out of it, pointing upwards, and one line dragged through the curve. Between the two lines was a slightly raised, third line. "What would you use _control_ for?" Derek asked, his tone biting and accusatory.

Stiles grimaced and shut the book, in the way that he often did when Derek gave a hint of disapproval. "Yes, okay, not everybody uses magic for good, Derek. You seem to be pretty fucking clear on that. But I don't know why you suspect _me_ of being one of those people. Alright, you can cast control over somebody if you're powerful enough. And yes, I've cast the spell before. But not on anyone else." He dug his fingers underneath the sleeve of his plaid and dragged it upward to reveal his bare skin. Near his elbow, written in probably Sharpie and appearing to have been drawn over again and again was that same sigil. "I use it for  _myself_. To keep myself grounded. Are you satisfied yet?"

"Am I satisfied that you're dabbling in something so dangerous that you have to use supernatural protection to control yourself? Hell yeah, Stiles! It's fucking grand! Let's celebrate!" Derek shouted, standing and throwing his arms into the air.

"You know what?" Stiles bellowed. "I am so fucking sick of you not trusting me! I don't know why I walk in here nearly every day expecting something to change! Everybody else in the pack and even  _my dad_ is fine with it, and you aren't yet? Even when you've been around me doing this the longest! I'm just expanding, Derek! I don't care what you say about how I contributed to the pack before I started this,  _I_ want  _myself_ to be better! And no matter what you say about it or what you think about me, I'm  _going_ to keep learning magic! So - deal."

Stiles stood up and shoved the book as delicately but also pissed-off-edly into his back pocket as possible. Derek seemed to realize that he had royally fucked up one too many times, but didn't seem to be able to conjure the words to fix it. Even though that was what Stiles was obviously expecting, hands at his side and mouth slightly open, but eyebrows defiant.

He appeared to grasp the fact that he was going to be leaving disappointed. "Fine."

He snapped his hands back down and took swift steps to the door.

"Stiles." Derek's jaw clenched. This scene was becoming all too familiar to him, and he hated that. The site of Stiles leaving so pissed off serially made him want to gouge his own eyes out.

"No," Stiles shouted. "Just - Just don't bother. You never do. You never come..." Stiles heaved a great sigh, didn't look back before opening the door, stepping through, and slamming it behind him.

Today, however, was different. For the first time, Derek followed him.

He bolted out the door and threw it back so hard into place that he felt the walls and floor reverberate, but he didn't slow for a second. He caught Stiles at the very end of the hallway, at the tip of the stairs.

"Stiles," he said again, bodies pressed close so that he was staring down at Stiles and nearly standing on his toes. "I... am sorry. You know that I react the way I do because I want to protect you?"

Stiles gave a flimsy push back, but ultimately stopped trying, even though Derek wasn't holding him tightly at all, and he could have easily broken away. "You never come after me," he said. He wouldn't meet Derek's eye.

Derek drew in closer, staring at Stiles's lips. "Well, that was my mistake."

Stiles had all the time in the world to pull back. Derek lingered for several seconds before solidifying the kiss, and Stiles allowed it. He snaked his hands up and around Derek's shoulders, wrapped them around his neck and dragged him close.

Derek, on the other hand, hooked one finger through Stiles's belt loop and the other hand on his back, held him as though the world was falling around them and they were each other's only salvation.

And, God, kissing Stiles was like a drug to Derek, and Stiles probably didn't even realize it. He made a high pitched noise in the base of his throat, which Stiles responded to with vigor, so that their legs were aligned, and their bodies pressed together at every height.

And then Stiles's phone vibrated between them, and everything stopped. Stiles ripped back, nearly falling down the stairs, and Derek caught him with a jolt of his heart. "You okay?" he asked, as Stiles dug into his pocket for the offending gadget. He stared at the screen for a moment, as Derek stared at him.

"I have to go," he said, and took a shaky step back. When the stair caught him, he reached out for the railing, turned on his way to the next, and started his descent. Derek felt his stomach shift, something within him growl. He didn't want to part with Stiles like this again.

"You'll come back, right?" he called after Stiles. For once, a waver of insecurity invaded his voice. Stiles glanced up from the bottom of the first flight of stairs. He stopped for a second, eyes roaming over Derek.

"Of course I will," he assured Derek quietly. And then he dropped his head and kept going.

 

+++

 

Stiles didn't come back.

The first day, Derek wasn't very worried. Maybe Stiles just had something going on. Maybe he was tired. Maybe he had some ideas to sort through. The second day, more thoughts of doubt crossed Derek's mind, but not enough to make him panic. By the end of the week, Derek was, plain and simple, scared.

He realized now that it didn't matter what Stiles did, as long as he did it as Stiles. And Stiles was doing magic as  _Stiles_. He was careful and meticulous and thorough. And Derek should have seen that sooner. He was ready to apologize, to admit that he  _was_  wrong, but he couldn't do that if Stiles never showed up.

It was at a pack meeting that Derek finally learned why. Stiles hadn't shown up, big surprise, and Lydia, Scott, and Isaac were loitering in the kitchen, raiding Derek's supply of water bottles, obviously thinking that he had gone to take his routine shower and wouldn't be able to hear them.

"But it was obvious, though, right?" Scott asked quietly. "It wasn't just me being over-sensitive to this stuff?"

Derek couldn't see them, but by the pause he guessed someone made a gesture.

"No, I noticed it, too," Isaac mumbled. "Derek was definitely off. And he kept glancing at the spot on the couch. Like he expected Stiles to be there, you know?"

"Well, can you blame Stiles?" Lydia asked. "I wouldn't go after anybody with that much baggage. Or commitment issues."

"Lydia!" Scott hissed. A pause, and then he continued speaking, "I just feel bad. I mean, it's my fault Stiles is avoiding him. I told him not to get involved with Derek if he didn't feel ready or if he felt like it was more trouble than it was worth. He said that - that with college coming up, that I was right. That it just wasn't worth it. But I didn't know that meant he was going to be avoiding Derek completely!"

"You didn't think Mr. I-Avoid-All-Problems would abandon all contact with a psychotic, serial killer beta werewolf?" Lydia asked. Derek could feel his claws digging into his palm.

"You guys, wait," said Isaac suddenly, and Derek could hear his footsteps coming toward the archway that led to the room Derek was currently blatantly standing in. He quickly turned on his heel and shut himself in his bedroom, but Isaac obviously knew that he had heard them. Derek pulled a Stiles by ignoring them completely.

 

+++

 

It was mid-July. Derek knew that he had to talk to Stiles eventually. He was already starting to pack his non-essentials for college, according to very reliable sources that Derek did not eavesdrop on, and that may or may not have been Stiles himself telling Scott over Skype. Apparently Stiles's bookshelf was more than half-way packed. Derek didn't see why he bothered. He'd been working on a real page turner for months now.

At eleven in the morning, Derek decided that he was nothing if not fair, so he sent Stiles a warning text.

_You lied. I'm coming over. Use the  
headstart as you will._

When Derek showed up at the Stilinski residence, Stiles's front door was wide open and his Jeep was gone. At first, Derek felt a spring of panic. But when he realized by scent identification that Stiles had fled of his own accord, he immediately got back in his car and drove away.

 

+++

 

Derek didn't text or speak to Stiles for another month, when Stiles was due to be having his going away party. At least a dozen times, Derek considered going to see him off anyway, but if there was one thing that Stiles had made candidly obvious these past weeks, it was that he didn't want Derek anywhere near him.

So Derek complied.

He sat in his bed and threw a basketball into the air, caught it, threw it, caught it, threw it, caught it threwitcaughtitthrewitcaughtitthrecaugthre... while he knew that Stiles was packing up his dad's friend's truck at that very moment and riding an hour away to his campus to start moving into the student dorms. Apparently he had acquired a single dorm by completely honest methods and no persuasion sigils at all.

And still Derek threw his ball and caught it, until such a point in time where the universe felt like it was pressing into his skull all at once, and he realized that he didn't need to get so hung up on a scrawny human that he would never see again. Especially when that human wanted absolutely no part of him. He resolved to move forward.

So Derek was content.

He caught the basketball one final time, then let it roll down his arms and off his bed, then bounce across the room until it landed on the floor and stopped of its own accord.

Derek turned over in his bed and shoved his hand under the pillow, cradled it close and attempted to take a long-overdue and well-deserved nap. Eventually, he managed to enter a pleasant, dreamless, limbo-state, where he did not have to think of Stiles at all.

 

+++

 

Stiles arrived at the university at a time that was too late to eat lunch but too early to eat dinner, and so, he was quite obviously experiencing the epitome of Hell. His dad hopped out of the truck with an air of half-relief, half-grief.

"You'd better work your ass off here, kid," he said as he brought Stiles under his arm. "Full scholarship a year early? And I mean  _nothing_ goes wrong."

"Well, uh, define nothing, dad," Stiles said amiably.

The Sheriff squeezed Stiles's shoulders tightly, so that Stiles had to work to breathe. "I mean  _doing the work_ instead of spending all of your time practicing your 'new hobbies' with that book." He looked around suspiciously as though someone could crack their code, or was even bothering to listen.

"Yeah, well, I'm going to need to actually move in first before I can get into any trouble, Dad," Stiles countered.

The Sheriff let out a loud laugh. "Oh, I doubt that. But don't try to prove me right," he said. "I think between us this unpacking shouldn't take more than two trips..."

So Stiles and his dad loaded their arms up with boxes and Stiles attempted to drag along his suitcase with him, and nearly every moment the Sheriff was complaining about Stiles owning too many useless things, and Stiles was trying to ignore him and walk at the same time. But, of course, his room had to be all the way at the back of the hall.

It was decently proportioned when they finally got there, however, so Stiles decided that it was worth it. He felt a pang in his gut, suddenly, terribly, at the thought of going the next few months without any of his friends or his dad's constant reassuring presence. There was a moment of vulnerability in the tender hug they shared. Stiles hoped for a moment that this was a joke, and that his dad would be a dad and bring him back to Beacon Hills and say that he was too young to be off on his own.

But instead, the Sheriff pulled back, clapped a hand on Stiles's shoulder, and looked down, frowning. His eyes met Stiles's, carefully. "You take care of yourself, kid."

"Will do," Stiles said, with the ridiculous urge to go in for another hug. "You take care of yourself better. I'll see you soon."

"And you'll call me tomorrow," the Sheriff said sternly.

"You might even get lucky and hear from me tonight," Stiles said, mock-bantering.

"Stiles, I stopped expecting so highly of you when you started eating the sand in the sandbox," John said with a sigh. Stiles busted out laughing. He could see with a glance to his dad that that was what he had wanted.

A few minutes later, the Sheriff managed to tear himself from the room, and he drove off in the truck. Stiles waved until he was completely out of sight, then headed to the nearest coffee shop, a convenient .2 miles from campus, according to Google Maps.

The wait was short, and Stiles found himself holding his coffee and not knowing what to do with himself as he drank it. It was almost luck, then, at that moment, when Stiles glanced up and caught the eye of a guy maybe a year or two older than him who was sitting in the back of the coffee shop. The guy had olive skin, and soft but striking features. His head was an appealing kind of wide, with dark brown hair that sprouted from his head in a style that could nearly be called a flat top, and not to mention he had a shiny silver earring that Stiles couldn't make out at such distance clipped into his left ear. He was wearing a dark purple dress shirt underneath a black blazer, and when he made eye contact with Stiles, he raised an eyebrow.

As if summoned, Stiles walked over to him.

"Uh, hi?" Stiles tried. He was suddenly aware of his coffee burning into his palm.

The guy smiled warmly. "Heeelllo," he drawled. His voice was slightly deeper than Stiles would have expected, like he spoke from the back of his throat instead of the front. "Sit?"

"Sure," Stiles said unsurely. He slid into the chair across from the guy and introduced himself.

The man's smile widened so that it showed splendidly white teeth. "Nice to meet you, Stiles. I'm Adrian."

 


	4. Adrian

"You give off a pretty powerful aura for someone who doesn't seem to realize that they were heralded," Adrian said, tilting his coffee mug around on the table, then bringing it up to his pink lips for a delicate taste. Stiles stared, almost gawked. _Herald_ was a sigil in his book. It was used to get someone's attention or direct them to you. Why had Adrian heralded Stiles?

"I - I don't know what you're-"

"Nice book," Adrian said. "Where'd you get it?"

Stiles glanced down, then back up, to where Adrian was still giving him a cool and measured stare over the line of his coffee cup. Stiles's mouth hung open stupidly for a few seconds, before he realized that there was no use in lying about it when Adrian obviously knew. "A friend," said Stiles suspiciously. He sat back in his seat, perched guardedly. "I normally make it a point of actually knowing a person I talk to supernatural stuff about."

"That's my friend's book," said Adrian, any pretense of 'friendly' or 'curious' dropped. "I've got three-quarters of a mind to hex your hands off and take it back from you."

Stiles began to sweat. "Well, I don't think you'll do that here with a bunch of very sane and completely human witnesses. Besides, I didn't _take_ this book. It was given to me," he said. "So I don't know the whole story between you and  _your_ friend, but  _my_ friend gave me a gift. As far as I'm concerned, this book? It's mine." Bitch.

Adrian leaned across the table slowly. "How long have you been weaving skirts?" he asked, completely seriously, as though that was an absolutely normal thing to ask. Stiles stared at him, not sure how to take that. He looked like he was asking a valid question, like weaving skirts was something everybody did, for accumulative years.

"What?"

Adrian rolled his eyes, glanced around. "How long have you been studying magic?" he asked, slower this time, almost condescending. His eyes scanned over Stiles's face and torso. Unlike his words, the guy's gaze was almost appreciative.

"You guys have a drug-dealer code name for magic?" Stiles asked in disbelief. "That is so-"

"How long?" Adrian interjected humorlessly.

Stiles sucked on his lips, released them with a pop. "About three months," he answered, dropping all pretense of drinking his coffee and throwing his hands across the table, watching them tap out a meaningless rhythm.

Adrian's eyebrows jerked up, a brief flash of shock flitting across his face. He seemed to forget that he was accusing Stiles of something - what it was, exactly, Stiles wasn't yet sure of. He paused as if holding his breath. "Seriously?" he ventured.

And... what? Stiles nodded.

Adrian propped himself up on his elbows from where he was leaning over. "You give off the aura... You seem... Well, it's just, I thought you were...  _powerful_ ," he said, almost ruefully. Stiles scoffed.

"Gee, thanks."

"No, not like that," Adrian disregarded, waving his hand. "I mean, after  _my_ first few months, I could barely lift a tea kettle. And you... You... Tell me, can you see energy fields yet?" Adrian's predatory smile turned into an honest grin. Like Stiles was an experiment. _  
_

Stiles was at a loss for words. He wasn't used to this - to someone talking about magic like it was absolutely normal, like it didn't make Stiles a freak or an outcast, like it was something to be _valued_. Adrian seemed excited now, still obviously expecting Stiles's answer. He shook his head. "No."

Adrian reacted as if this only pleased him more. In fact, his entire attitude toward Stiles had changed. "This... is going to sound very suspicious and creepy, but I'm going to ask anyway. Can I take you somewhere? I want to show you something," Adrian proposed, then sat back against the spine of his chair, still unabashedly drinking in Stiles's appearance.

"What is it?" Stiles asked. He, too, leaned back, although his stance carried significantly more caution.

"It's a club," Adrian answered, shrugging. "But you'll like it there."

Stiles was intrigued. "Would it by any chance be a supernatural club?"

Adrian fought to hold back a smirk. He craned his head downward, bit the inside of his cheek. "It certainly could be," he relented. He looked back up at Stiles, laugh hidden behind his eyes. "What do you say?"

Stiles sized the other warlock up for a minute. "I say, how far is it?"

 

+++

 

Adrian's car was expensive-looking and pitch black. Stiles was reminded with a pang of Derek, whom he hadn't so much as typed a word to in weeks. "Whoa. Your energy field just spiked, Stiles. You okay?" Adrian asked.

"Great, more incredibly invasive paranormal talents," Stiles groaned as he sat in the passenger seat. And, yep, his Dad was so right about getting into trouble before classes even started. Here he was, sitting in a probably not pre-owned car, about to go to a club full of supernatural creatures  _maybe_ , with a warlock who he had met less than ten minutes ago and wasn't even sure he liked. Nice going, Stiles.

Adrian raised an eyebrow, didn't yet start the car. " _More_?" he asked dubiously.

"I, uh, yeah," Stiles stammered. "I live back in Beacon Hills. I - I was sort of part of a pack. A werewolf pack."

"Dude! Get the shit out of town!" Adrian exclaimed, banging his hands against the leather steering wheel. Stiles nearly flinched at the thought of damaging this perfect specimen of a car. "Was it the McCall pack?" he asked excitedly.

Stiles did a double take. "Yeah. You know about the McCall pack?" he asked incredulously.

Adrian laughed, hearty and loud and obnoxious. Stiles liked it. It meant that his laugh wasn't the only one like that. "Anybody an inch deep into our world knows about the McCall pack," Adrian said. "If you don't, they chase you to Argentina or rip your head off trying. Is McCall really a True Alpha?"

"Scott? Yeah. He's my best friend," Stiles said. He was liking this Adrian more and more with every passing second. He thought that maybe he should stay at least a little suspicious, but Stiles knew about getting off on the wrong foot more than anybody. He was the king of getting off on the wrong foot. And of getting off. "And I'm glad that our reputation maintains our morals. Kindly asking people to leave before blowing their shit up."

"This - this is the coolest - you are the coolest, Stiles!" Adrian yelled, kicking his feet on the floor of the car. Stiles grinned, teeming with pleasure. It had been a while since somebody had been honestly excited around him. He'd forgotten what it felt like. It was refreshing. "You have to take me back to Beacon Hills sometime! I have to meet them!"

With that, he kick-started the car and began whooping as he drove down the street. Stiles flushed with pride.

 

+++

 

The "club" that Adrian was taking Stiles to was less of a club than Stiles had imagined and more of an intense coffee shop. Sure, it was in an old, abandoned house and the lights were all different colors (predominantly blue), and there was music cranking over several strategically placed speakers, but everything was relatively toned down. There were a few people scattered throughout the room, all in their own little groups, and a selection of people dancing off in a corner on a wooden floor. Adrian looked around proudly.

He bowed his head toward Stiles, so that his chin was practically resting on Stiles's shoulder, and muttered, "I'm always a little late to these thi-"

"Stiles?"

Stiles cocked his head toward the person who had said his name. That was a voice he hadn't expected to hear in a long time. It was a girl, relatively busty, with long blonde hair that reached to just above her elbows, and jagged bangs. Her eye color couldn't be distinguished in this lighting, but Stiles knew that they were a light brown, just a few knocks before amber. She was taller than Stiles by about an inch, and beaming.

"Agatha!" Stiles shouted in delight, and rushed over to wrap his arms around her. She hugged him back tightly, laughing in delight. "I didn't think I would ever see you again!"

"Well, don't sound so glad about it!" she shrieked happily.

"No, no, no, no!" Stiles assured her. "This is happy tone because  _oh my god it's you_!" He pulled back, then decided _no_ , and immediately hugged her again.

"Adrian - I - what...? How are you...? Why is Stiles with you?" Agatha asked over Stiles's shoulder. It was just about the best hug Stiles had ever been one half of, and he was not at all keen to cut it short.

"I ran into him," Adrian answered coolly, like he hadn't just been bouncing off the walls right in front of Stiles, leaning against the door frame. "Didn't know he was a friend of yours. He has your book."

Agatha, to Stiles's dismay, pulled away, but she kept a hand held on his shoulder. "It's not my book anymore, Adrian," she said, then turned back to Stiles. "Oh, my God. You look great. Your energy field is just - pulsing. Geez, you really worked hard at learning this stuff, didn't you?"

"Okay, what is this energy field people keep talking about?" Stiles asked, grinning. "I'm starting to feel like everyone's rubbing up all over me, in like, a friendly acquaintance way that is still sort of awkward." And, yep, any lingering shreds of doubt for Adrian were immediately washed out of Stiles. As were any ill feelings harbored for this club.

"Come meet the rest of the coven!" Agatha said, over his rambling, because she knew Stiles well enough already to tell that it was ninety five percent garbage.

"Coven?" Stiles asked, raising his eyebrows, and he gave a yelp as Agatha tugged him across the floor to a table in the back right corner, where a group of five people were all sitting comfortably, beer bottles, glasses, and shots an arm's length away at most.

"Yeah! They're really nice. You'll love them," Agatha assured Stiles on the way over, and if he squinted, he could see a ray of yellow radiating around her. He stumbled as it flashed before his eyes. He suddenly felt Adrian's hands on his shoulder and lower back, steadying him. He turned back to see Adrian grinning confidently.

"I got you," he said. "Sorry about that." And he took his hands off. Stiles was a little conflicted. He wasn't sure that he wanted him to let go.

"It's... okay," Stiles said hesitantly, as Agatha stopped him in front of the wooden table. 

"Coven, this is Stiles. He's a warlock. Freshman," she presented. "Stiles, this is Steffan, Nick, Jane, Ruby, and Daniel." Agatha gestured to each member of the coven in turn with a grand gesture.

 

+++

 

"Uh, excuse me? Not so fast," Stiles called, tripping out of the club just after eight, following Adrian. The worst part of it was, he was completely sober. He was just tripping because he was an ass. "You're actually my ride home, considering you effectively kidnapped me."

Adrian glanced back at Stiles from about fifteen feet away, then turned on the spot. "I was so hoping you would say that," he called, spreading his arms out. He looked heavenly with the just set sun ducked behind him.

"What?" Stiles caught up after another trip.

"I. Was hoping. You. Would ask me. For a ride. Back," Adrian said slowly, punctuating each word with an eloquent body movement, taking his time. He knew that he had Stiles's undivided attention.

Stiles blinked. "What?"

Adrian breathed a laugh out through his nose, tilted his head slightly away. "You're charming, Stiles," he said, confident. Stiles wasn't quite sure that he hadn't been body-swapped, or turned invisible and Adrian was talking straight through him to someone else who was also, coincidentally, named Stiles. Stiles even went so far as to turn around to check.

He pointed to himself. "Me, Stiles?" he asked, almost high-pitched.

Adrian's eyes softened, he took a step closer. "Yes, idiot," he said, then practically manhandled Stiles's chest under the pretense of adjusting his hoodie. "Not to mention, you're... good looking. Do you want me to teach you magic?"

Stiles's mouth fell open helplessly. "Are we...? We're still talking about...? The weaving skirts kind, right?" Adrian's laugh was genuine this time, and he nodded with a white smile, endearing. Stiles's "Uh-huh" ended up being more of a piping whimper. He may have tripped again.

 

++

 

Scott's face flashed up just as the Skype call began. Some icy, hard part within Stiles melted, and he was all butter in his computer chair, the look of his puppy dog best friend smiling up at him. "Stiles!" he called, grinning.

"Scotty boy!" Stiles greeted. "Okay, so, uh, let's just get this on the table. I may or may not have accidentally joined a coven."

Scott sounded more disappointed than surprised. He shoved his face into the palm of one hand. "Damn it, Stiles. You've only been gone a  _few hours_."

"I know, but-"

But Scott was already going off. "Who are they? What are they like? Are you  _sure_ they're okay? Do you need us to come up there and-"

"No, Dad, I'm alright, actually," Stiles cut off, smiling lazily. It was nice that Scott cared enough to get so worked up over him. Stiles hadn't seen much of that lately. "I'm sure that they're alright. Actually, they've heard of you guys - you know, the esteemed  _McCall Pack_ ," Stiles said glamorously. "One guy in particular was pretty excited to-"

"Oh, my God. Stiles, shut up," came Adrian's voice from the other end of the room, where he was sitting on Stiles's bed and reading over the spellbook. Stiles glanced up at him and grinned.

"What? You thought I was talking about  _you_? Pffff, no  _way_. I meant Dan the Man!" Stiles insisted flimsily. 

"Stiles? Who is that? And what do you mean  _you guys_? You're a part of the-"

"Scott, I'd like you to meet Adrian!" Stiles interrupted, because he wasn't in the mood to discuss his subconscious wording. "He's one of the - I met him today and he's part of the coven."

"You know, you can say 'warlock,' Stiles," Adrian said, then snapped the book shut, abandoned it on the bed, and sauntered over. His eyes were bright with excitement. He was staring at the laptop before he could even see the screen.

Scott didn't say anything until Adrian appeared in front of the webcam. "Hi, Adrian. I'm Scott McCall," he introduced awkwardly, and waved to the camera.

"Hi, Scott. I've heard a lot about you," Adrian said, and he himself waved, hunched awkwardly next to Stiles (who was sitting in a computer chair) so that his head stayed in frame. 

Scott glanced at mini-Stiles. "Have you been talking about me?" he asked shrilly.

"Actually-"

"Yup, just talk-talk-talkin' his ear off," confirmed Stiles, patting Adrian on the arm firmly. "And, actually, I... I should probably keep unpacking. I mean, we just barely got the bed and the desk and everything done, I'd like to get my clothes _not_ in my suitcase because you know how my suitcase smells, it's disgusting."

"Okay, uh, nice meeting you... Adrian," Scott said quietly. "Stiles, text me?"

"Yeah, you bet," said Stiles, and with one click, he ended the call. He smirked up at Adrian. Adrian managed to keep a straight face for all of three seconds before he started shaking his head and dissolved into a grin.

"You're an ass."

"I'm the biggest ass," Stiles agreed. He stood and latched his hands around Adrian's hips, pulled him close with a few short steps, and sucked on his lips for a quick second. Adrian smiled into the kiss, which practically drove Stiles insane, and a laugh bubbled out.

He couldn't help but have the thought occur that it was so much easier than kissing Derek. With Derek, everything was stress and need. With Adrian, it was what making out  _should be_ \- he assumed. Messy and fun, with noises and giggles and happiness rather than lust. And then Stiles felt a wave of guilt, because why should he be thinking about Derek when he was kissing _Adrian_?

He pulled back. "We should, um... We should unpack the dresser."

 

+++

 

"No, no, careful. That's not 'protect' that's 'bladder,'" Adrian corrected, pointing out Stiles's mistake on the paper. "Instead of keeping them safe you'll make them piss their pants as they get mauled. Remember, the two lines aren't separated. They're like a mountain."

"My _dick_ is like a mountain," Stiles groaned. He pushed back in his chair, rubbed over his eyelids with his fingers. He could hear Adrian laughing, but he didn't look over.

"You're fine, Stiles, you're just - stressing too much, okay? Try to focus on something else. Something that makes you feel better," Adrian instructed. "At peace, even, is a better word, probably."

Stiles's mind jumped to Derek, and he instantly felt bad. He had no right to Derek; he hadn't spoken to Derek in over a month. Derek didn't _like_ Stiles. He was barely even associable with Derek anymore. And here was Adrian, thinking of Stiles, teaching Stiles , protecting Stiles,  _wanting_ Stiles.  Granted, they had only known each other a week.

But it had been a pretty freaking great week.

"What time is it?"

" _Focus_ , Stiles," Adrian pressed. He knelt next to the chair, rested a hand on Stiles's shoulder.

" 'Cause it feels like it's, like, two in the morn-"

"It's  _nine_ , Stiles," Adrian said. He decided it was time to relent. "So, I guess we're taking a break now?"

Stiles nodded, making some sort of drawled agreement noise from the base of his throat. "Yes, pretty please," he intoned. "Can we please do something significantly more fun now?"

He finally opened his eyes, just in time to see Adrian's entire torso give in to the chuckles he was emanating. Today he was wearing a cerulean dress shirt with a sleek, black vest. "Yeah, we can do something a little more fun," he echoed, and dominated what little room was left on the swivel chair, squishing Stiles in the process. Adrian spread Stiles's knees apart but brought his thighs together as he straddled him, then hovered for just a moment before attaching his lips to Stiles's neck and moaning with all of his throat as their skin made contact.

Stiles's head fell back, which only gave Adrian more room to adore. "Fuck, you're gorgeous, Stiles. And, _God_ , your energy pulsing is so fucking hot. Like, seriously, if there was one guy I had to make out with for the rest of my life..."

"Is that a marriage proposal?" Stiles asked breathlessly. He was already hard, and judging by Adrian's foul mouth, he was, too. It was a habit that Stiles found delightful in the dirtiest way possible. "Because I know it's only been, like, a week, but at the moment I'm pretty tempted to accept.

Adrian laughed lowly, right in Stiles's ear. "Not yet," he teased, biting delicately at of Stiles's earlobe, throwing tingles all throughout Stiles _and_ himself. It was an incredible feeling, getting off on the thought of getting another person off. "I think we should have a little bit more fun first."


	5. Sigil

The last place that Derek Hale would have expected to bump into Stiles Stilinski was in a grocery market. Made double by the fact that Stiles was supposed to be in college. And that he had left only two weeks ago, so there was absolutely no logical explanation as to why he would be back in Beacon Hills so quickly, or, for the matter, perusing the cereal/snack aisle.

Derek's first instinct (which he obviously played on, because he was a wolf for Christ's sake) was to run. As he was large and rather conspicuous, however, so mostly what happened was that he jerked harshly left and crashed into a metal display set up, causing a very large rattling noise and attracting potentially every gaze on the planet.

Including Stiles's.

Stiles himself gave a healthy jerk at the sudden noise, and when he spotted Derek's hulking, lumbering frame, he was surprised to say the least. And then all of these other emotions began flooding into Derek's nose - fear, despair, anguish, _delight?_ That was completely out of place with all the other ones, as well as quickly overtaken. Stiles nearly dropped the jar of salsa he was holding, but seemed to get sense just long enough to replace it on the shelf.

And, well, Derek was doomed because they couldn't just pretend they hadn't seen each other. They'd made eye contact with each other for at least four straight seconds. And Stiles was walking over to him - not even walking, sauntering. Like he'd suddenly gotten steroids for his ego over the past two weeks. Derek did nothing but stay rooted to the floor like his legs were tree trunks and stare as Stiles drew inevitably closer.

All of his emotions that he'd packed away over the past few months came back and hit him like a sudden smack to the gut. The Stiles that he had had feelings for, that he had kissed, appeared to be all but vanished. The circles underneath his eyes were apparently a permanent fashion statement, and Derek felt a twinge of disgust at this new Stiles - or rather, at the fact that he had lost the old one.

Although, it didn't appear that way. When Stiles first engaged in conversation, his tone was quiet and gentle, like looking at a photograph from ages past. The face was familiar, obviously, but different, because the person had changed, but you had watched it gradually, so it still had an impact. The only difference was, Derek hadn't watched this change happen. It wasn't like when Stiles had grown out his hair or filled out his shoulders. It was sudden, and it made Derek sick.

"Derek?" Stiles asked, then glanced around worriedly, as though he was trying to spot security cameras spying on them.

Derek forced the words out through an almost completely locked jaw. "I thought you were at college."

 Stiles shifted his weight. "I - I was. I mean, I am. I am, uh, in college," he said lowly. "I came back because, well, you know, it's the weekend and the campus isn't far." He hesitated, seeming to bounce on the balls of his feet for a moment before taking the plunge. "Plus, I, uh, I made a friend. He was pretty anxious to come down here and meet some... people. That I know. Here."

Derek sniffed. "You smell... more powerful," he grunted.

Stiles did a twisty thing with his neck, agitated, before Derek even finished his sentence. "Yep. I've been studying," he said shortly. "Look, is weaving skirts really what you want to talk about right now?"

Derek squinted, drew his eyebrows together in condescending confusion. What the hell was  _weaving skirts_ supposed to mean? Stiles didn't seem to notice, and carried on chattering.

"I mean, we haven't spoken in, what? Over two months? I thi-"

"Yeah, and whose fault is that, Stiles?" Derek asked, startling even himself by having it come out much harsher, and not to mention louder, than he had intended. Stiles shrunk back. "You said you would come back! You  _didn't_. You just left me hanging like that for  _mon_ -"

"And  _thiiiis_ -" Stiles gestured wildly between the two of them "-is  _why_ , Derek! We can't talk about anything anymore without it turning into an argument! I'm not even sure we ever could! So, excuse me for not wanting to check out more baggage when I was already leaving everybody I've ever-"

"Yeah, well, it doesn't look like you did a very good job of leaving, does it?" Derek spat bitterly. He had the impulse to grab Stiles and kiss him again, but for once, sense washed over him first. They couldn't keep doing that - keep fighting and then hashing it out with their tongues. No matter how much Derek liked Stiles's tongue. Derek really liked Stiles's tongue.

"Derek, this delusion you've got - the one where you think I  _owe_ you somethi-"

"Stiles."

"And another thing! I'm getting really sick of you cutting off everything I say to you! What you have to say isn't always so  _fucking_ important that you have to stampede over me. Not a great way to woo me or  _whatever_ you're trying to accomplish, because, in case you haven't noticed, I'm Stiles. I love to talk." They were nearly touching noses, Stiles was so up in Derek's face.

"I didn't cut you off that time," Derek said. He was telling himself to step back, but his body, for whatever deep desire, just wouldn't follow orders.

"Congrats. D'you want a fucking m-"

" _Stiles_."

" _What_?" Stiles practically shouted. Then he realized that Derek hadn't spoken.

Derek tilted his head to the right, a quick but tense gesture. "I'll take it this is your knew friend," he said bitingly. Stiles glanced over to see Adrian there, looking reasonably chipper (although it appeared somewhat forced) and holding up two jars of salsa.

"Mild or spicy?" he asked, then pulled his lips back into an awkward sort of grimace. He glanced between Derek and Stiles like he would rather be anywhere else in the world.

"Shit," Stiles said, in a mildly disguised cough. He turned to Derek, most resemblance of anything angry wiped from his expression and replaced by a klutzy kind of fear. "Derek," he tried again, almost sweetly. He reached out and put an arm companionably on Derek's bicep. "This, is Adrian. He is... my new... boyfriend." Stiles squeezed out the last word like the last splatter of ketchup in a nearly empty bottle. Derek tensed. "Adrian, this is - Derek Hale." Stiles's movements were stiff and forced. There was nobody in that social situation that wanted to be there.

Adrian's glance shifted from Derek to Stiles quickly, then back again, in mildly-well contained surprise. He reached a hand out, which Derek stared at for a full five seconds as he seriously contemplated ripping it off. Eventually, because he was raised so well-mannered, he reached out and gripped it tightly, then pulled back immediately.

"I've heard a lot about you," Adrian said fluidly, like this conversation wasn't an absolute train wreck of an event. "Er, not... from Stiles, really. Just... in general. I'm a warlock, you see. Like Stiles."

Derek's glare shifted to Stiles menacingly, and, God, if looks could kill.

"Well," Derek forced out, entire body absolutely rigid as a board, "I think I should go. Bye. Stiles." He turned immediately after he finished speaking, eyesight red, with no destination in mind, just knowing that he had to get  _away_. As far away from that moment in time as he could get.

"Hey, uh, ask Scott for my Skype," Stiles called after him. Derek picked up his pace. He made the unfortunate mistake, however, of glancing back, just as his control slipped and his werewolf hearing clued in.

Adrian was leaning into Stiles's space, right up close and personal, and whispering, "Everything alright?"

"Yeah, I'm... It was nothing," Stiles assured Adrian, then forced a smile and looped his arms around Adrian's stomach and lower back, brought him closer and shared a completely consensual and bile-raising kiss. It was disgusting, how perfect they seemed together, and Derek knocked over three entire displays (not all of which intentionally) as he stormed out of the store.

 

+++

 

Derek, eventually did, when his vision cleared, contact Scott to ask about the Skype ID, because he wasn't just going to  _not_ when Stiles had finally spoken to him again. Even if Stiles was just going to throw him around like a used rag. Derek would still do it. He was sort of like an unintentional masochist in that way. By the time that had happened, though, the weekend had passed and Stiles was already back at college.

The Skype call music rang out for a few seconds before Stiles's face flashed onto the screen. Derek didn't know if he wanted to relax or stiffen, so his body ended up making a weird combination of the two.

"Hey," Stiles said uncertainly, eyes flitting over the screen and presumably taking in Derek's appearance. It was nothing special. A dark red shirt and some scruff was all he would be able to see.

"Hey," Derek mirrored.

"I'm, uh, glad you called," Stiles said after an awkward pause. Derek disregarded this.

"Is Adrian there with you?" he asked.

"No," Stiles answered immediately, and Derek wished that Skype wasn't so shitty so that he could distinguish heartbeat through it. "No, it's just me. I've got a single. Actually, I've, uh, been doing a lot of studying this week.  _Actual_ studying, by the way, not just weaving skirts."

"There you go, using that phrase again. What the hell does that even mean?" Derek asked. It was awkward, talking with someone like this. Derek didn't like it. But, if it meant he got a chance to communicate with Stiles, then, well...

"Oh!" Stiles said, as if it hadn't been obvious that no one knew what ideas 'weaving skirts' was supposed to convey. "Oh, it's, uh, code. For magic. You know, like beating off is for masturbation."

And, man, Derek was very proud of himself for resisting the urge to cut Stiles off on that one. The unfortunate result of that resistance, however, was an awkward silence, because Derek sure as hell couldn't respond to that.

"Anyway!" Stiles said pointedly. "How's... life? Been for, like, you know. You." He seemed to deflate.

"Fine," Derek answered.

"Man, I've really missed this," Stiles said sarcastically. "How could anyone not want to spend every minute of the day with a monosyllabic werewolf who shows literally zero emotion?" He looked like he was trying not to roll his eyes.

"You didn't used to mind."

Stiles suddenly stiffened, and he began beating at the neck of his dark purple t-shirt. Derek didn't remember him wearing it before his move to college. "Man, is it hot in here? I think it's pretty hot in here. California is a pretty hot state, wouldn't you agree, Derek? Especially around this time of yea-"

"Stiles. What. the hell is that." Derek gestured with his eyes to the tiny black lines peaking out from underneath the now badly misplaced collar of his t-shirt.

Stiles glanced down, then back up at the camera, and Derek could practically smell the  _oh shit_ emotion from Stiles, fifty miles away though he was. He hastily covered it up, as if he wasn't about to explain it with a, "Well, uhhhhhhhh, I may have gotten a tattoo?" He finished shrilly, with a large shrug.

Derek kept his growl in the base of his throat, but his chin still managed to lock down in its tell-tale position. "Show me," he ordered. It was too bad that he was no longer an Alpha. That one would have definitely given him some bonus authority points.

Stiles groaned, glanced up somewhere behind the camera before grabbing his shirt at the base and pulling it up over his head, thrusting it on the floor. There, brazen onto the skin covering his collarbone, in thick, black lines, was a downward pointing V with a diagonal line struck through it.

"That's a sigil, Stiles. What does it mean?" Derek asked harshly.

"I got it from my book," Stiles defended. "And... I don't actually know what it means," he admitted. "It was hand-drawn in, see, and-"

"Are you even old enough to get a tattoo?" Derek asked. He shouldn't have bothered. If Stiles had wanted it, Stiles would have gotten it, legal or not. Mostly, it just depended on how drunk he was. Again, legal or not.

"My coven gave it to me," Stiles explained. Then he looked up with the biggest  _fuck_ expression Derek had ever seen. He didn't do much in the ways of registering it, however, because he was too busy exploding at Stiles, shouting and waving his hands around, and he may have been only pixels to the warlock, but he was certain that his intent to kill was easily conveyed.

 

+++

 

"I'm reading, Derek."

" _Now_ , Peter."

"Look, even if I  _did_ care - which, I will make very clear, I don't - I couldn't help you. I have no idea what that sigil means. Or, even, why you're bothering me with this. I thought you hated Stilinski," Peter mused, his eyes twinkling, because he knew the truth of his last sentence to be the exact opposite.

"Look again," Derek ordered, shoving the paper on which he had scrawled the sigil Stiles had inked into his skin under Peter's nose and in front of his so-important book. (Derek had read it. The ending was mediocre at best.)

Peter sighed loudly and dramatically, grabbed the paper, and unceremoniously shut his book. He made a grand gesture of looking at the sigil. For a second, something akin to alarm flashed through his whole body, and then it vanished, and he looked up at Derek again skeptically. "What makes you think I even know anything about-"

Derek shoved the outstretched paper back into Peter's chest. His eyes flashed. "Now."

Peter relented. "It's the symbol for binding," he explained. "And it's no joke, either. It's the equivalence of 'soul mate' or as close as you can get. Whatever your twink has gotten himself into, he's in it for good now." He handed the paper back to Derek. "There's... nothing you can do."

Derek growled. He couldn't accept that. "No, there has to be  _something_."

Peter's eyes roved around the room before finally landing on Derek again, who was staring at Peter with bated breath, eyes intense. "Perhaps," Peter granted, "if I knew more..."

 

+++

 

The drive honestly wasn't so bad. It was less than an hour, actually, as it was nearly one in the morning and therefore there were no other cars on the road. Stiles would be asleep already or soon enough anyway, judging by his eyes and how much studying he had vaguely hinted at.

Once on campus, Derek caught Stiles's scent quickly. Apparently he had been getting around. In the not-sexy way. Derek could barely stand to think about that for more than the second in which it flitted across his mind.

He followed Stiles's scent down to the very end of a corridor in one of the student dorms. It was mingled, through every hallway, right up until the door, with another, very vaguely familiar, scent. A scent Derek had only gotten once before. In the supermarket. Adrian's.

And, as Derek walked down the final hallway, he understood why.

Stiles was not asleep. He was not asleep at all. There was the sound of a rhythmically creaking bed trained into Derek's ear, along with heavy panting and whimpers of Adrian's name. Derek could practically hear the slapping of skin together, nearly felt sick at the thought of what was happening beyond that door. He stumbled back, resisting the urge to shout and break everything with the jealousy that ravaged his insides like force-fed acid.

It took every last drop of his willpower, strain down to the tip of his curled claws (which were digging into his palm something fierce), to keep Derek from barging into the room and ripping Adrian limb from limb. It would be pleasurable. Derek would delight in the spray of his blood across his own skin, in the way it would coat the walls and the furniture. He would love to see Stiles's face, to get a chance to throw back some minor fragment of the catastrophe Derek was experiencing within himself right now.

But, instead, he moved back down the hallway with heavy, thudding footfalls until he could no longer hear anything from that room. He sat down and waited patiently, racking his brain and nearly ripping his hair out as he forced fingers attached to bloody but healing hands through it. There was a spike in his ear, two solitary shouts, so Derek knew when they had finished (Adrian first).

When he trusted himself to stand again, lungs laboring under the fight to actually take in oxygen and not just give up now, Derek fought his body into an upward position - arguably the hardest battle he had ever been in. His steps back down the hallway were much slower this time, more blundering, and certainly unsteady. He paused outside of the last door of the hallway, hand on the doorknob, listening. There was nothing - no sound but two even in-takings of breath - to indicate that anybody was inside that room.

Derek twisted the handle as quietly as he could manage in his current state. The light, a single lamp in the corner of the room, was still on, but the rest of the dorm was entirely peaceful. Stiles and Adrian were curled up together on the one bed, Adrian's arms wrapped around Stiles like he could never bear to let go, and Derek got the worst sense from it because he couldn't even be angry about that. Because, was the situation reversed, that would be him exactly. _Thankful_  to get even one night with Stiles. Protecting him, even in sleep.

And he must have been more powerful than Derek initially thought, because he began to stir, no doubt from Derek's supernatural presence. Derek honed in on the book, found it lying, open, on Stiles's desk, next to his laptop, and grabbed it, just as Adrian began to shout.

He was bolting back down the hall just as Stiles woke with a shout of alarm, but obviously couldn't chase after him because of his and his lovely  _boyfriend_ 's current state. At least one moderately convenient thing had come of it, though Derek would much rather it hadn't come to this at all.

His phone rang incessantly on the passenger seat next to him as he drove away, Stiles's name adorning it. Derek ignored it the whole way home.


	6. Witch Binder

Peter looked as though he would rather be in any other room of the loft. Derek's gaze on him, tracking him, was intense, to say the least. He was practically staring Peter down as Peter made one Hell of an attempt to string together a theory on what was happening to Stiles. If there was anything. He still adamantly appeared to believe that Derek was just paranoid, obsessing over nothing.

The uncle rolled his eyes and looked up to Derek dramatically. "If you really think th-"

"I don't want to hear another word out of your mouth unless it's about Stiles," Derek said pointedly, crossing his arms. He nodded toward the book as if to say _back to work._

Peter rolled his eyes in the other direction as he turned back to the book. "As I've said before, the sigil means 'bind.' You've heard me say it a thousand times. I don't know what more you want from me," Peter said coolly.

Derek tried not to think of the worst that it could mean - that Stiles and Adrian had bound themselves together. Eternally. After only two weeks. Desperately, frantically, perpetually, Derek wished he could remember if he had seen any sign of a matching tattoo on Adrian's body. Nothing came to mind, but that didn't necessarily mean anything. "Is it possible to find out who Stiles is bound to?" Derek asked, eyebrows raised. He would maintain his composure, if nothing else. Peter would never get the satisfaction of unhinging him.

Peter closed the book, and Derek was a little irked by the fact that he could make an _inanimate object_ sound sarcastic. "Of course," he said condescendingly. "Ask him."

Derek scoffed. That obviously wasn't an option. "Is there any other way?"

Peter gave a loud, airy groan, coupled with a flamboyant arm wave. "Derek," he chided, as if they were teenagers again, "just ask your boy toy. Stalking doesn't look pretty in the legal systems. Anyway, there's not even a need to get so worked up. Yet. It's possible that he was just being an idiot teenager, as wont, and got a tattoo because he thought it looked neat."

Derek stuffed a growl back in his throat. "Not a sigil. This is Stiles. He's an idiot, but he's a careful idiot. He wouldn't just _get_ _a_   _tattoo,"_ Derek insisted.

Peter stepped closer. Derek got into a predatory stance even before Peter rested his hand on Derek's thick arm, looked him deeply in the eyes. Then, softly, softer than Derek heard him speak in a long time, so soft that Derek was actually charmed, he asked, "Are we talking about the same Stiles? Because the one I'm talking about is exactly that kind of an idiot."

Derek knocked Peter's hand away and utilized all of his natural force, mixed with his pent-up anger of the past few months, to hurtle Peter through time and space to the other end of the loft, into the wall with an alarming crash that rattled the foundation. "You have to tell me something else!" Derek shouted, his eye color glistening like the origin of moonlight. And so, okay, maybe Peter had a very easy job of unhinging him, but now he got to deal with the consequences, which was obviously fair game.

Peter gave a loud groan. "I can tell you to lay off the steroids," he moaned, dusting off his jeans and working his way into a standing position. The wall had sprouted several cracks where Peter's spine had made contact. "Didn't anyone ever teach you not to throw someone across the room into the wall? Honestly, raised in a barn."

Derek took a large, unsteady breath in through his nose. He clenched and unclenched his fists several times before growling, "How _strong_ is the bond?"

Peter shook his head slightly, opened his arms. "Permanent. Eternal. Synonyms," he said matter-of-factly. "There's no getting out of this one, nephew, no matter how well you brood or try to martyr yourself. Stiles had bound himself to someone, and he's going to stay theirs forever."

 

+++

 

Derek had officially lost it - he was having a staring contest with a book. And probably winning. But he couldn't help it. The thing just felt evil. Radiated a sinister aura. Like poison working its way through the air of Derek's bedroom. So he had to glare at it.

And more than evil, Derek felt like it was taunting him. Like it was deliberately sneering at the fact that he hadn't yet just destroyed it. Like it was daring him to. But he hadn't quite been pushed over that particular edge, yet. He still didn't know how much Stiles would hate him if he did that, even though every fiber of his being was screaming at him to just tear it to shreds, to throw it in a lake, to dredge out the remnants and burn them.

And then he heard two sets of footsteps and heavy breathing enter his earshot.

"Derek! I know you can hear me, and you'd better let me in right now! I'm not fucking around!"

Derek gritted his teeth at the harsh, emotional cut of Stiles's words. He grabbed the book and stuffed it out of sight, underneath his pillow, even though he knew that Stiles would find it in a heartbeat. He was exactly as far gone as Derek thought he was. There was no hiding the book from him at this point.

Derek tried to ignore how in the wrong he felt as he went to open the door. That vanished completely when he saw that Stiles had brought Adrian (who looked extremely uncomfortable with the whole situation) along. Derek raised his eyebrows. "I beg to differ," he said coldly.

Stiles ignored his comment and pushed past him, made a beeline for the bedroom, all the while raging, "I can't fucking believe you, you pompous, arrogant, self-entitled asshole! I knew you were a goddamn lunatic before, but this is crossing every single fucking line! This is so far past every line that has ever been created to not be crossed! You've crossed so many lines that you went back to the beginning and crossed the first few lines again! You  _fucking asshole_!"

Upon his emergence from behind the wooden door, Stiles discovered that neither Adrian nor Derek had moved, although Derek seemed to be more locked down inside himself, while Adrian just looked awkward.

Stiles walked right in front of Derek, holding the book in front of his chest with both hands. "This. Do you see this, Derek?" he snapped, and it did seem to jar some reaction out of the werewolf. "This book? Mine. And you don't come near me again. Got it? You don't text me, you don't call me, you don't fucking breathe in my direction, you dick!" He paused for a moment, as though waiting for a response. There was none. He shoved Derek in the chest. "Out of my way, asshole."

And he was clearly about to drag Adrian out the door again, to leave, as Derek realized what he wanted. Stiles wanted a reaction. He wanted to fight. Which meant that there was still a part of him, despite all that he was saying, that cared about Derek enough to negotiate the terms of his punishment.

"Wait." Derek bit out the word, stuck his hand towards Stiles as if he could touch him. Stiles froze, but didn't turn. Derek felt immensely relieved that he had been right, that Stiles wanted to talk.

"What."

Derek sized up the situation, decided that what he needed to say could barely be said to Stiles, let alone Thing Two. "Make him go away," he said with a curt nod.

Stiles looked up at Adrian, who nodded understandingly, so Stiles removed his hand from Adrian's shoulder. Derek held back his bile as Adrian reached his fingers up to curl around Stiles's left cheek and under his jaw. "'S'okay," he said quietly, but Derek heard it like a truck horn blaring in his ear. His relief escalated exponentially as he watched him walk out the door. After a few tense seconds, Stiles turned around. But he didn't say anything. It was almost unbearable.

"I don't like him," Derek said, as though he needed to justify his actions, or because it could ease him into the topic of the conversation they were about to have. Either way, it was the wrong thing to say.

Stiles launched his whole body at Derek, whaling him in the chest, still clutching the book in his left hand. He brought his hands back, then hit out at Derek again, even though his hands thumped uselessly against the broad chest. He yelled out his frustrations and let himself get carried away, let himself slam his hands into Derek repeatedly. "You have no right, Derek Hale! You have no right to come back into my life and take my things and judge the people I care about!" he yelled, and his eyes gave the telltale sting of tears in the making. He hated that after everything he had gone through, everything he was putting himself through, he was still only human. In Derek's eyes, in his own eyes, in everybody apart from Adrian's eyes.

Derek knew that Stiles knew he wasn't being hurt by the flimsy, albeit stress-relieving attack. So he let him keep hitting. Derek fought to wrap his arms around Stiles, to bring him in close and hold him in a constricting hug. He wanted to convey that it was  _okay_. That he would _be_ okay.

"You b-bastard," Stiles sobbed. "I've never done... How could y..."

"I know," Derek murmured, and his heart felt cold and shriveled, like it was clenched together as an unfeeling chunk of metal. "I'm sorry." He felt exposed and vulnerable, like when he had changed during a full moon as a kid and gotten his leg stuck down a rabbit hole. Predators had been all around him before his family, his  _pack_ had shown up and saved him. It seemed that he would always need someone else's leg to stand on.

"That doesn't fucking mean anything," Stiles accused, half-muffled, still straining against Derek's grip. "I'm with Adrian, and he fucking makes me happy."

"He makes you fuck-happy," Derek countered bitterly.

Stiles froze underneath Derek's loosening grip, caught Derek so off guard with his fit of rage that he successfully pushed the werewolf away. "You  _asshole_!" he shouted, his voice breaking from the strain of it. It cracked in Derek's ears, like an audio overload. "Just because somebody finally fucking  _wants_ me for the first time in my goddamn life and isn't so socially fucked that they can do something doesn't mean you have the right to barge in and screw it all up! I'm not  _yours_ , Derek, no matter what you think in your twisted, psychotic, emotionless brain. And I never was. So just... Just fucking...  _don't_."

He took an unsteady step toward the door again, and Derek felt his robot-heart lurch. He couldn't part with Stiles on bad terms  _again_  and there was still more that he had to say...

"Stiles, wait! Okay - okay?" Derek relented, holding up both hands in defeat. "I won't. I won't come near you. I won't talk to you. I just - can you answer one question? Please. Just one question. That's all I need. And then I'll never-"

"What." Stiles looked like he was completely on lock down, and it was as though Derek was looking at a complete stranger. His sleep-deprived eyes were cold, devoid of the bright light that was so  _Stiles_. It was almost alien, to see the familiar body carried so differently. His shoulders were broader, maybe just because of the way he held himself now. Less hunched and gangling, more confident. More perverse. His mouth was not curved one way or the other, but a straight line of defeat. And he would not look anywhere but at a singular spot of Derek's floor.

"Are you... Did you bind yourself to Adrian?" Derek asked carefully, the metal in his chest working overload as he dreaded the answer that he needed.

Stiles glanced up. Derek could see the rawness, the truth of emotion in his eyes. "I don't know what you mean," he said. He turned toward the door. Derek felt haunted by the uncharacteristic chill of his brown eyes as they disappeared.

"Stiles, wait!"

"You said  _one_ question, Derek!" Stiles yelled, the fury so blunt, so  _tired_ that Derek took a step back, then he stopped completely. Stiles didn't look back this time as he kept moving, but he did say one thing. "There's a reason it's not you. Because _this_ is what we've always been. Adrian is capable of showing love."

 

+++

 

"Anything interesting echoing around in that remarkably thick head?" Peter asked, strolling into the room. Derek couldn't even be bothered to wonder how he had gotten into the loft. Frankly, he just didn't care. All he could think of was his meeting with Stiles. His final meeting.

Derek said nothing for a long while, just sat on the couch and stared ahead, hands clasped. The truth was, he was tired. He didn't care about anything anymore. He didn't care about what Peter had done in the past, or what happened every time Derek tried to confide in someone. How they died. How they betrayed him. How they  _left_. Everyone was always leaving him, and it was always his fault.

Right now, when Derek looked up at Peter, he didn't see the ex-Alpha back from the dead who had tried to murder him and his pack however long ago it was. It didn't matter. Right now, Derek saw his uncle. He saw the slinker that snuck onto school grounds to talk Derek. Yeah, he was a manipulative bastard still, but not so much evil. And that was the Peter Derek had always known. That was the Peter from before the fire. The Peter that Derek needed right now. It turned from him not so much looking up  _at_ Peter, as more of him looking up  _to_ Peter again, for once, letting him in.

"Stiles isn't bound to Adrian. Or if he is, he doesn't know it. He doesn't know anything about what the sigil means," Derek said quietly. He looked back down again, trying to imagine the younger Peter considering him, preparing his advice. Trying to imagine himself in the Beacon Hills High School locker rooms, basketball clutched nervously in hand. That, after all, was usually where Peter had found him.

"Or he doesn't think he does. Derek, what happened, exactly?" Peter asked seriously. His thick voice pierced Derek's fantasy, but as soon as silence won over again, it was restored.

"He doesn't think he's bound to Adrian," Derek repeated.

Peter scoffed dramatically. Like he was trying to say _So what_ in an uplifting manner without actually saying anything. He was obviously just as socially impaired as Derek was, only he used more sarcasm to cover it. "That doesn't matter. Adrian could have tricked him. It doesn't take a brain surgeon," he said, leaning back in the adjacent armchair. "Just a warlock. I know hundreds of them. All any one of them would have to do is lay eyes on the kid and they could hoodwink him."

"No, Adrian didn't have a tattoo," Derek denied. He was getting frustrated with Peter constantly inventing ridiculous nicknames rather than just saying Stiles's name. Derek needed to hear Stiles's name. 

"Are you  _sure_?" Peter pressed.

Derek shrugged. He wasn't.

Peter rolled his eyes. "That's helpful."

"What do you want from me?" Derek snapped.

"Well, some  _answers_ would be nice," Peter retorted spitefully.

"Then how about giving some of your own," Derek growled, almost a proposition. "It'll be a nice trade-off. Now  _what_ do you know about that sigil?"

"I can't give you any answers, Derek," Peter emphasized, almost smugly, as he rose from the faded white armchair, "because you already know them. It's just that, subconsciously or not, you refuse to admit it. But I can help. You know that your precious little human is off the market. If it's not his fuck buddy he's bound to, it's someone else, and he won't have room for you in his life anymore. It'll become an obsession. A moderately healthy obsession, I grant, but they'll be in it 'til the end. Their wedding vows won't even _begin_ to cover how devoted to each other they will be. How devoted they already _are._ It looks like you missed your chance."

"Right. Fine. I get it. Point made," Derek said through gritted teeth. He had a feeling that Peter was laying it on so thickly just to push his buttons. It was working, but it wasn't funny, even if Peter seemed to be feeding off of it, like it was boosting his ego. "How the hell do we find out who he's bound to?"

"Well, you tried once. I take it asking him again is out of the question," Peter said.

" _Yes_ , _obviously_  it's out of the question," Derek said. "Tell me." The stardust was beginning to wipe from his eyes, and he was again surrounded by the filth of his life, with no one to help him but his murderous, overly-sardonic uncle. It was almost worse than if he hadn't pictured anything else at all.

"You'll have to track it down. Like a package you ordered online. Although, unfortunately, there are no convenient websites where you can enter a code and see Stiles's mate checked in at Orlando, Florida. You have to find out who's giving the same aura. As of right now, they are merged. They are one intricate being inhabiting two bodies. They are the same."

"Stiles's aura is getting darker," Derek admitted. "It's like... like poison."

"Right." Peter nodded. Derek got the sense that he was leading him along. "And which aura gives that same feeling? You know this, Derek. You've already been introduced to it, Derek. In fact, corresponded with it on multiple - _countless_ - occasions! You took an hour long car ride with only that aura."

Derek looked up, locked gaze with Peter, eyes terrified. "The book... Stiles is bound to the _book_?"

Peter nodded slowly. "I recognized it the moment I saw it," he said lowly. "That book has a name. It's called the Witch Binder."


	7. Decay

"Stiles, are you alright?" he asked, brushing the the hair, trodden down onto his boyfriend's forehead from sleep, upwards with his fingers. He leaned over the back of the computer chair, fixed his arms around Stiles's shoulders, and nuzzled into his neck with concern.

"I'm fine, Adrian. It was just a dream," Stiles said, although his appearance quite contradicted that statement. He was pale in all the wrong places, and sort of thin-looking, in the sense that his aura felt like someone had skinned it with a potato peeler, then stretched it out to make it look fine.

"I'm worried about you," Adrian mumbled, lips grazing against skin. Stiles suppressed a shudder. Despite this, he was extremely alarmed at how quickly their relationship was moving. And a little bit intimidated. He didn't have nearly as much sexual experience as Adrian, who seemed to have spent his first year of college as quite the man whore. Stiles couldn't really complain, with the tricks he pulled at night. Besides, Adrian was good looking, and if he settled for Stiles for whatever reason, Stiles definitely would not be first in line to poke that bear. "D'you want to talk about it?"

"No," Stiles answered quietly, just above a whisper. He stared at one spot on his desk, a grain of wood that was slightly darker than the area surrounding it. Somehow, he felt himself relating to it.

Adrian smiled against Stiles's neck now. His lips were soft and familiar. "Stiles..." he coerced, then snagged a small sliver of skin between his teeth and held it, still grinning. Stiles was absolutely positive that he was the devil, and that it was absolutely not legal for him to be both concerned and sexy at the same time.

"Alright, alright," Stiles gave, then waved him away with a light smack on the forehead. He swiveled around so that he faced his boyfriend, who took up position leaning against Stiles's faded white wall, just next to the door. "I... it wasn't really a nightmare, but it wasn't a great one. And it was... weird." Stiles sighed and ruffled his hair, scrunched his face up in concentration.

"You're weird," Adrian interjected fondly. His hair was mussed and sticking up, and he seemed to be a little loopy. Elated - maybe. Stiles had topped last night. Apparently he hadn't been so bad.

"Shush, you wanted me to share," Stiles scolded. He glanced up at Adrian, then back at the floor abstractly. "It's, uh, it's really vivid actually. I was - we were going to drink some wine or something, so I had two glasses and the bottle and yeah... Anyway, this guy showed up. He was ordinary. Human, you know? But he started threatening me so I was like 'uh, back up, bitch' but he didn't. So I - I - I froze. It didn't even occur to me to try to use magic. I was just... useless, again. And I just hate that. Because it was me for so long. And I don't know why, but I was so... terrified. Because I was alone. That's - that's my big thing. I can't deal with feeling alone."

"Stiles, you've never b-"

"And then I _wasn't_ alone," Stiles gushed, unable to stop himself from rolling right over Adrian's words. "Because... Because Derek showed up."

But suddenly his mouth went dry. He couldn't say anything more. Adrian stiffened until he was frozen, leaned against the wall like a statue that had always been there. "Derek the - the werewolf?" he asked. His voice quivered.

"Yeah. From Beacon Hills," Stiles affirmed quietly. "He - he came out of nowhere, he tackled the guy to the ground and started ripping, ripping up everything, I - I just remember the walls covered in-"

"Stiles," Adrian cut off. It sounded like he was in pain. Stiles felt a splurge of guilt in his stomach. He shouldn't be talking about Derek with Adrian. He shouldn't even have been worrying - it was just a dream.

There was a long pause where neither of them moved and only one thing changed. The air between them seemed to settle. Adrian was compartmentalizing. They were deciding what to do next. Stiles sat expectantly, hands silently trembling. Waiting.

"So... what?" Adrian asked at length. His voice was soft, but not quiet. He was testing the waters. "What do you want to do about this? I - what is Derek to you?"

Stiles looked up at Adrian - he wanted it to be a glance, but when he met hazel eyes filled with disgruntled concern, he couldn't look away. "I'm sorry," Stiles said, his eyes itching and his voice cracking. He bit down on the nail of his thumb, stared into the space across the room as the first tear dropped. He couldn't bring himself to lie. Not to Adrian. "I'm in love with him. And it's not fair to you. I know it's not. So I try to convince myself - but it's _Hell_. Trying to be with him. It's Hell. Do you understand? Because he's so... Derek. I'm sorry."

Adrian looked up. His usually gorgeous, bright, confident eyes were brimming with tears to match Stiles's, only he was staring at the ceiling instead. Stiles had never seen Adrian cry before - had never even imagined it. But it was agonizing. It was like something was gnawing away at _him_ from the inside, trying to break its way out and consume him entirely. He wished he had never met Adrian, just so he didn't have to hear the way he took several tiny, sharp breaths through the nose to calm down. Or the way he touched his tongue out to his teeth and arched his eyebrows and refused to look any lower than Heaven. The way his voice cracked on every word, like a wooden raft breaking as it busted down a rapid river. "So what does this mean for me? Are we breaking up?"

"No!" Stiles protested, throwing his hands out. His body seemed to follow them, until he was out of the chair and wrapping himself around Adrian. "No, I don't want to. I - Derek's not an option. That's not happening, not ever. I just... I don't know. I needed to put it out there. But I do want to be with you, Adrian. I do. _Fuck_ , I'm so sorry. "

Adrian was silent, but he returned Stiles's hug, which was definitely a good sign. "I don't want to break up with you either, but if Derek's going to get in the way of this-"

"No," Stiles cut off firmly, pulling back but maintaining his firm hold on Adrian's shoulders. "Derek is history. Derek is _pre_ -history. Don't work about Derek."

Adrian's tears dragged down his cheeks, and Stiles felt like a complete asshole for causing them and since Adrian was still upset, but also like a total Disney prince when he wiped them away with his thumbs and gave an encouraging smile. Adrian dared to let out a laugh. Stiles's heart leaped. "You're an ass," Adrian chuckled, then pulled Stiles in for pretty much the best kiss ever.

 

+++

 

"Brought you a coffee. Two creams, extra sugar, 'cos I know you had that big essay due yesterday so you're probably all screwed on sleep. No pun intended. You okay?" asked Adrian, kicking the door to Stiles's (unofficially their, because there's never a time when Adrian isn't there, for God's sake, according to the DA) dorm room shut and dropping a bag on the desk.

"Fine," Stiles dismissed irritably, examining his book thoroughly for the infinite time in the past month. Today, as has been so for the past week and a half, Stiles was studying spells for "self defense" or, more accurately, spells he would use to beat the shit out of any human or supernatural fucker that came anywhere near him. For some reason, he was having trouble shaking that dream. And thoughts of Derek. Thankfully, true to his word, Derek had not been in contact with Stiles at all. There was a small, deep part of him, however, that wished Derek had broken his promise and made a big gesture anyway.

"You don't even want to celebrate the two week anniversary of our first real fight?" Adrian asked, pseudo-skeptically. He kissed the back of Stiles's head, and Stiles had to resist the urge to swat him away.

"Not now," he muttered. But it was too late. He could feel his concentration drifting away.

"Hey. Why don't we take a break, eh?" Adrian _suggested_. He hit Stiles lightly on the back of the head, just to the left of where the skin was still tingling from the contact of lips.

"Why don't you take a break and go talk to Nick the Dick or something," Stiles grumbled, trying to scrounge up whatever peace he had previously felt and stay focused on the book. He fiddled with the corner of the page, pointedly ignoring Adrian. Or, at least, attempting to. Adrian wasn't making it very easy on him.

Adrian didn't fuck around this time. "Hey. Is there something you want to talk about?" he snapped.

"Not particularly," Stiles replied grouchily, almost a growl. Adrian stared. He set the coffee down on Stiles's desk, crossed his arms and cocked his head to the side, in a sort of curious anger.

"Have you been protecting yourself before you start going through that thing? Like I showed you?" Adrian asked. His tone was still angry. Stiles hadn't even looked up from the book yet. He didn't respond. " _Stiles_."

"What?" Stiles yelled, hitting the desk and looking up. It stunned Adrian into silence for a moment. The air was heated with tension. Stiles could see Adrian's aura - red and yellow, alarmed and angry - but he didn't much care at the moment.

"What is _wrong_ with you?" Adrian asked.

"Nothing. I'm fine," Stiles spat. "Why are you scrutinizing me?"

"Because you're talking to me like I'm one of the sodas lying in the back of your mini fridge." Adrian regarded Stiles with a look of moderate disgust. "Show me your arm." He made a grab for Stiles's plaid sleeve, but Stiles lashed out at the touch.

"Get the fuck away from me!"

Adrian backed up, eyes a mass of puzzled fury. And now, mingling in with the rest, were concern and dread. "Stiles," he said quietly, "close the book. Put it away for today. Let's do something. Let's go to the movies, okay?" It was nearly begging.

Stiles stood up, and for a moment Adrian feared that he was about to do something reckless, that he was about to fight or lash out again, but at the last second, he deflated, and said, "Fine." He took the book from his desk, shut it gingerly, and put it in his wide back pocket.

Adrian's eye twitched. "Why... why don't we leave the book here?" he suggested in a calm, friendly tone, his face tilted toward Stiles but eyes trained on his jeans, only flashing up at the end of his sentence.

Stiles ignored this, in favor of asking, without looking at Adrian, "Can you get that?" He spoke so long before his phone began to chirp that Adrian was momentarily confused. He stared at Stiles, who seemed to be completely unaware, for a full seven seconds before cautiously moving across the room and investigating Stiles's phone.

"It's a text from Scott," he said, and his voice wavered. "He says that he needs you to call him. There's a rival pack in Beacon Hills that they need your help with flushing out."

"Delete it," Stiles ordered.

Adrian's eyebrows shot together. "Delete it?"

"I didn't stutter. Delete it. I don't care about the pack. I care about the coven. Are we going to the movies or not?" Stiles snapped.

 

+++

 

Stiles wasn't running. His feet were planted firmly on a barren stretch of land, as though he had stood there since the dawn of time, and never had nor would he ever have any plans to move. About ten feet in front of him, the only thing he could see beside the landscape of the desert, was a large crack that evenly split the terrain. About fifteen feet across and stretching endlessly in both directions, one might even go so far as to call it a pit. Stiles gazed upon the crevice, almost curiously.

And then it spoke to him.

" _You know that those around you are not truly your friends, Stiles, do you not? You know that I am the only friend you need. That I have always been there to answer your questions, or to distract you when you were tarried with flimsy mortals. And you have not been unrewarded for your loyalty to me. Are you not satisfied with how much power you have gained_?"

The voice echoed around not only from the pit, but also within Stiles's head. It resonated, a raspy breath, like the sand of the surrounding desert had somehow infiltrated his body and started buzzing around his mind. It almost stung.

"I am," Stiles answered confidently. He was not put off by any of these factors.

" _This is not the first time we have spoken, Stiles. You know how to address me_."

"Of course. I am sorry, _bladjvak_." Blad-eej-vack. Friend. It rolled off of Stiles's tongue.

" _You are doing well to learn my language. Bladjvak indeed. And those with whom you associate... they do not know of our aliemora_?" Ale-iem-ora. Bond. Stiles's mind recited it like a well-oiled engine. His adrenaline began to pump.

"None of them," Stiles answered resolutely. "I didn't even know until-"

" _Regardless. The time has come, Stiles. I am ready to emerge. You can support me, now_."

Stiles's palms began to shake. His throat choked up. "You... you're coming for me?" he asked, voice trembling.

" _Are you not pleased_?"

"No, no, no, no, of course I am," Stiles assured the pit quickly. "It's just... I didn't expect it to be so soon."

" _You are a fast learner, jekorev_." Jeck-whore-rev. A slightly less formal way of saying friend. Someone inferior. " _Faster than most I have attempted to persuade that I am not an enemy. They tend to bring themselves to their own demise. You are the first trustworthy prodigy I have made contact with in a very long time, Stiles_."

"I... am honored, _bladjvak_." Stiles bowed his head, unsure why he was doing it. It felt right.

" _And you are right to be. Did your filthy pack of werewolf mutts ever make you feel special? Certainly not. 'The Boy Who Runs With Wolves.' No need. That title never did you any justice. You are The Warlock of Higher Power, and you will be second only to me, Stiles. After all, isn't that even more than what you crave? Am I not going above and beyond for you, jekorev? All you ever wanted was appreciation. And I am giving it to you, Warlock. I am giving you the love that you so desperately cry out for, the recognition you rightly deserve. And all because my little book tumbled into your hands. I have more, you know. I have an entire library, ceiling stretched to the sky, with shelves full of books that you can learn from. You can spend all day in there, and nobody will disturb you. Your power will grow exponentially. It will be infinite. More importantly, those who are lesser will not cast aspersions or name you strange anymore, Warlock. All that we want will soon come to pass_."

Stiles nodded. There was a lot to take in from that. First and foremost, the one thing that stuck to the front of Stiles's mind, was that vocation of love. He had love already. He had it from his dad and he had versions of it from Scott and Adrian and maybe even Derek. And he had more versions of it still from the coven, from his old pack, from random people who had seen him in the streets and thought he was cute. But they had not been the first to give Stiles worth, to make him feel important, as he felt now. So for that, he stuck up his chin and said confidently, "And I'm ready."

Stiles wasn't sure why, but he felt like the entity - because there was no doubt in his mind that there was something far greater than the pit itself lingering in front of him - was smiling. Or, at least, as much as a formless entity could smile. In any case, it was certainly conveying the emotional aura of pride - in Stiles. And that bounced around inside Stiles and reverberated through his core like a happy bouncy ball. Someone cared. And not in the exasperated way his dad always acted around him, or in the goopy and fragile way Scott treated him.

No, this was someone who saw Stiles for all that he was and said _yes, good_. No exceptions. No altercations. Just Stiles.

" _Ah? Hmm, yes. An anxious little thing, aren't you? I certainly hope that nothing happens to you, Stiles. You have proven yourself to be most... useful. Expect me. I will be arriving forthwith. You know what this demands, however. Make sure that the book is on your person at all times_."

Stiles nodded, almost nervously. "I will," he promised. "You won't be disappointed in me." And then, without warning, his lungs caught. There was a flurrying of incoherent movement not in front of him, but within his eyes themselves. Like a black mass had been painted over them. He jerked away, with a sudden, sharp intake of breath through his nose that scratched his throat in a way that nearly choked him. It seared his esophagus on the way down, made him feel like a small chunk of metal was trapped in his lung and thumping around.

Adrian was awake in an instant. His arm already swung over Stiles's chest in sleep, all he had to do now was lean up on his other and place it comfortingly on his boyfriend's shoulder. "Stiles? Stiles! What is it? Are you - was it a nightmare? Are you okay?"

Stiles's eyes flashed about the whole room before they finally landed on Adrian, wide, bright in the darkness with alarm. "No," he gasped out, far too quickly. Adrian could probably see the lie, the tints of yellow in his spiked-green-and-red aura. "No. No, I'm fine. It was nothing. I just - woke up too suddenly. I'm fine."

Adrian didn't seem convinced in the slightest. He eyed Stiles with the air of utmost concern. "Are you sure?" he asked, tone disbelieving.

Stiles knew that he could deny and deny all he wanted, but the plain and simple was that Adrian would not let this go without full confirmation that Stiles was hot-cocoa-and-warm-blanket levels of secure. As if to further drive in Stiles's point, he continued, "Because I've been worried about you lately, Stiles, I'm not going to lie-"

The kiss was more to shut Adrian up than anything, not that Stiles really considered it a chore. Adrian's response was automatic; the hand on Stiles's chest went up to hold his jaw, and his head craned down to make it easier on the both of them. His right leg twisted around so that he was nearly laying over Stiles, body held loosely, so that he sagged over only some places. And then their lips broke apart, and he was collapsed on Stiles's chest, fingers curled around the edge of Stiles's shirt as if he wanted to fuss with it, but wasn't quite sure.

"I don't want you to get hurt, okay? So if you think that something might be going wrong because of - because of anything, just... you can talk to me, you know, right? And you can trust your instincts. I care about you a lot, Stiles," Adrian murmured.

"I'm fine," Stiles insisted again, relaxing, although a tiny spring of guilt echoed throughout him, back into the relatively tiny (especially for two people) bed, now that his heart was beginning to calm down. "It was just a dream."

A dream that, this time, he wouldn't be able to tell Adrian about.


	8. The Man Who Emerged From The Book

Derek was a jumble of emotions when his phone went off at six in the morning. Primarily, he was pissed off. But also with a range of being startled, confused, relieved, and beyond worried. Mostly because if his phone was blaring _Who Let the Dogs Out_ , then Stiles had either had a serious change of heart, or he was over-the-top in danger, and had literally no other alternative to go to for help.

Derek was in front of his phone in about half of a second, and asking if Stiles was alright before he'd actually put the thing to his ear.

"Derek? Is that you?" came the voice on the other end, and then Derek's moods shifted to completely 50/50 annoyed and mega-worried.

"Adrian," he said coldly. The first time Derek had talked to Stiles in weeks, and Stiles wasn't even Stiles. He couldn't stop himself from letting out a few bottled-up bitter emotions. "What is it? Is Stiles hurt? Why are you calling _me_? Right _now_?"

"Okay, Derek, there's a lot of things you don't know and a lot of things that are about to happen. You need to _be here_ for those things. Stiles won't say it, but he doesn't... I know - he _needs_ you," Adrian said hurriedly, with a hint of dejection in his voice. He swallowed, then began again. "Stiles is addicted to his magic. It's killing us, it's killing _him_. And, listen, I spoke to the witch who gave him the book, and she told me that there was a reason she gave it to him. She started having these dreams - terrible ones, where she woke up screaming - because this _thing_ kept reaching out to her. She couldn't say anything more than that. And she didn't expect to see Stiles again, but now that she knows it's happening to him, too, she feels terrible. But Stiles is dependent."

"Adrian. Get to the point," Derek growled. He was ready to sprint, now he just needed to be told in which way to run.

Adrian cleared his throat. "Right. Sorry. It's just - and you know I wouldn't call you but - he just needs... I'm going to break up with him, Derek. For a lot of reasons."

"Why the hell are you telling me this?" Derek asked hotly. He didn't need any details (really, at all) about Stiles and Adrian's wonderful, spectacular, dry-heave-errific relationship.

"And one of those reasons is because I know he wants to be with you," Adrian carried on determinedly, but Derek could tell that he was hurting. He almost didn't think _Good_. Almost. "So don't - don't screw that up, alright? He's not _with it_ right now, but trust me. Even though you have absolutely no reason to. Seriously, I can feel you staring at me through the goddamn phone."

"Is this all?" Derek asked shortly. He was already one-handedly working himself into a pair of jeans.

"Well, no..." Adrian admitted. Derek hated his voice, hated everything about him. "Right now, I'm sort of like an anchor to Stiles, and if I break that bond between us... He could go over the edge pretty easily. Now, look, I don't much about that _thing_ inside the book, but it's like a ticking time bomb. And I don't know what happens when it stops ticking. Besides a huge explosion, that Stiles will be in the heart of."

Derek was silent. Usually, he'd have a witty one-liner for this type of situation. In this case, he didn't want to give Adrian the satisfaction. He just hoped that, if there was in explosion, Adrian got caught in the blast zone.

"Done?" asked Derek as he opened his bedroom door and sped toward the front door of his loft.

"Derek." Adrian hesitated. "I know that you don't like me. I get it. But we both want what's best for Stiles, so maybe we should work t-"

Derek hung up as he shut the door behind him.

 

+++

 

The drive up to Stiles's college was simultaneously a second and an eternity. Derek tapped the wheel rapidly, with both thumbs, the whole way there, and all the while, the situation felt increasingly worse. If possible, his mind was racing faster than the car was. He wondered if it might not have been faster to just run. He was sure his legs could carry him better right now. The only thing stopping him was the need to maintain control. If he shifted right now, he couldn't be sure he'd be able to handle it.

The second Derek opened his car door, he knew that absolutely everything was off. It was like the entire center of gravity in the Earth had shifted. An acrid scent was filling his nostrils, but it was thin, like it was coming from afar. Half a mile at most. Derek trusted his instincts and followed it as fast as he could.

The building that housed the basketball court had black smoke emerging from two sides. And Derek knew that it held the basketball court because a large portion of the wall was torn asunder and he could _see_ the basketball court. There were several people running from it, a few of them screaming, even less of them with streaks of dark gray on their skin and clothes. The air smelled heavily of sulfur and fire. Derek's heart began pulsing harder in his chest than he could ever remember it having done before.

He charged inside.

Stepping over a mass of tangled metal beams that jutted out of the ruined structure's base, Derek used every sense to its fullest extent to try to grasp what was happening. He knew, though he hated to admit it, that Stiles was at the roots of this. A thick wire caught the hem of his jeans and tore them. The rip bounced dully off of his ears as he laid eyes on the only two people in the room.

Stiles was standing in the center of the gym, dressed in black pants, a red dress shirt with short sleeves, and a black, button-down waistcoat. The area around his eyes was completely shadowed, with purple deteriorating steadily until it looked much, much darker. He looked as completely un-Stiles as he could look.

As for Adrian... Well, Derek walked inside just in time to watch Stiles snap his neck. He was dressed similarly, but in a purple shirt instead of red, and, when his face landed with neck oddly splayed toward Derek, his eyes were healthy. Or, they had been healthy a moment ago. It was just shocking enough to make Derek falter to a stop.

Stiles hadn't been facing him, but upon his entrance, the familiar moles on his left cheek turned slowly toward the gaping hole that Derek had walked through. When Derek could see the crook of his eye, Stiles grinned.

"Long time, no see."

Derek's eyes trained on Stiles. It was like he was clouded with a thick, dark mist that only the wolf in Derek could detect. It made Derek's heart stutter erratically. Stiles's heart, however, was calm and determined, beating persistently on like a determined drummer. Somehow, it made Derek feel better to know that he was alive, even, impossibly, after what he had just seen. It was clear, though, that no matter what body he was looking at, Derek was not currently in Stiles's presence.

"What, you're just going to stand there? After you've come all this way for me?" At this point, Stiles turned to face Derek fully. He tugged his waistcoat down.

"Stiles. You've got to stop this. The police are going to be here any minute," Derek said.

Stiles shrugged. His eyes were slightly wider than normal. He looked like a college-kid version of the Mad Hatter. "So? I can kill them, too. I can kill anybody now. Nobody can stand in my way, or tell me I'm not good enough." The words made Derek's insides feel like ice.

Derek glanced at Adrian. He didn't know what to feel. His eyes flashed back to Stiles before that sight could imprint on his irises. He didn't need it. He didn't want it.

"Admiring my handiwork?" asked Stiles, nonetheless. "Yeah, he was fun. At first. Then he started to drag me down. You should have heard him - not that you'd have wanted to, being you - always preaching about  _morals_ and  _protection_. Uh, both kinds of protection, in case you were wondering. Magical and... sexual." The last word sounded like a taunt glazed with honey. Stiles barely paused long enough for a breath before continuing. "No, you probably weren't wondering. After all, I know you saw something of our performance a few weeks ago. The day after that was the last time we spoke, wasn't it? Has it been tearing you up something awful inside, Derek? I know how you feel about me, after all. And maybe, just a little bit, I enjoyed milking it. Watching you  _suffer_."

"Stop," Derek said. He reduced his flinch as much as he could as Stiles's gaze on him sharpened. "Don't say things like that, I know you don't - that's not Stiles talking. Whoever you are, I know you're not Stiles."

Stiles let out a laugh, loud, care-free, and hysterical. It echoed in Derek's ears. "Juuuuuuuuuuust shut the fuck up, Derek. You sound like a jackass, talking like you  _know_ me. Like you ever gave half of a rat's shit about me. It's pathetic. You're p-"

"I did, Stiles," Derek cut off quickly, because he couldn't bear to hear that. Not from Stiles. "You know that I did. And maybe you're scared to admit it to yourself, with everything that's going on, but I did - I  _do_ \- care about you. You know that. You know that I've been beating myself up all summer because of what's been happening to you, and you know why, because you're smart."

"Unlike you," Stiles pitched back, fists clenched. "I  _am_ smart. I was the only one in that God-awful pack that ever tried to  _think_. See? Do you finally see where you are without me? Where you deserve to be?" Stiles lifted his chin, so that he was looking down at Derek with bright, furious brown eyes. Brown. Derek's favorite shade of brown. His brief moment of relief at realizing that is shattered when Stiles says, gutturally, "At my feet."

"If this is all you saying this, keep talking," Derek said. He tried to bottle up all of his emotions. It would never work, approaching this situation with anything other than logic. Stiles knew Derek too well. He'd be able to press all of the right buttons. It would be over in a moment.

Stiles took a step forward, his jaw hanging open slightly, as though he wanted to speak. Derek hung on every ragged breath he took. Stiles was silent just long enough to give Derek hope. Derek took his own step closer as Stiles began sauntering.

"You... You think you can manipulate me?" Stiles asked, much quieter, much more dangerously. His chin was angled down down, and he was staring at Derek from beneath his eyebrows, pointing at his own chest. "You think I... I  _ever_ cared about..." The words died off like Stiles was choking, and Derek felt his heart leap.

"I do," Derek insisted, nodding. "I think you did care about me. Just like I cared about you. Otherwise - otherwise - like you said - you could have killed me already. But you haven't. You're talking to me. And you always complained about villains monologuing in m-"

"You think I'm the _villain_?" Stiles yelled shrilly. He took a powerful step toward Derek, so that there was only a few feet of space between them. Stiles's eyes were flashing to a lighter color, almost white, from his rage. "Just because you think you're - you're so - doesn't mean that  _I'm_ the villain in this story, Derek! I'm not -  _bad_. I'm just - I'm just doing what's right for  _me_."

Derek stared at Stiles. He wished that this was one of the many dry jokes he'd so often delivered. "Killing him - Adrian - that was right for you?" Derek asked softly. He felt bile rise within him. 

"You have to  _crack_ a few eggs," said Stiles coldly. "Don't get me wrong, I was hoping you wouldn't have to be one. But it looks like-" Stiles raised his hand and made a quick gesture in the air, so fast it was as though Derek could see the symbol blurred by his movements, and sent the werewolf toppling over and crashing onto his back. "-you're going to be a problem."

"Stiles," Derek coughed out. There was bright, alarming pain in the back of his head and front of his eyes, and Derek knew that his head had to have cracked through the sleek logo on the basketball court's floor. He could feel blood push its way up his throat, and he turned to spit it out of the corner of his mouth,

Stiles was leaning over Derek in an impossibly short amount of time, one thick boot placed almost delicately over Derek's neck, correcting him so that he was lying straight again. Stiles laughed, sort of piteously, and said, "You should have  _accepted me_ Derek. Was it really that hard?"

"I do accept you, Stiles," Derek wheezed. Stiles's boot was pressing more firmly, until Derek could feel it in his jaw. "And I was wrong to hold the prejudice I held before. I'm so - achugh - I'm so sorry. Stiles, I am _sorry_." Derek took a moment to cough. While Stiles had not relented, he had stopped adding pressure. "And I'm sorry that I thought your feelings didn't apply to me. I accept you now, Stiles. Any way that you are. Because I love you. Please... Please just don't be a killer... Please..."

Derek could see tingles of white working their way into the corner of his vision. His brain was telling him to  _stop_.  _Just relax and let it happen_.  _It's about time anyway_. And just as he was about to close his eyes and let his body go slack, Stiles's boot removed itself. Derek could feel the indents on his neck, could still imagine the pressure of it. He could feel separate parts of his body healing.

And this time, when Stiles spoke again, he sounded almost scared. "Derek, fuck, Derek -  _fuck_ \- you don't know what you just -  _bladjvak,_ no, I didn't, I didn't-" _  
_

Stiles interrupted himself. His black smoothed out, his voice calmer, his head held higher. "Is this going to be a problem? Do I have to take over your body completely? You know I don't wish to have your freedom, _jekorev_. I want to make this as painless for you as possible. But if this pest will be-"

"Stiles?" Derek asked carefully. Stiles spun around so fast that Derek was sure that this was one hundred percent someone else. Stiles would have toppled over if he'd made his body do that.

Stiles's features were calm for about two whole seconds as Derek stared at him, unable to fathom how deep the hurt in him went at seeing this. And then they turned confused. And then... slightly...  _terrified_. "What are you  _doing_?" Stiles yelled, but Derek got the feeling that he wasn't talking to him, still lying on the floor. "Taking my body back! I won't - I can't hurt Derek..." And that had been Stiles, Derek was sure of it. All of him, fighting its way back. " _You dare - this was what we wanted, Stiles_!"

"Stiles!" Derek shouted, fighting to stand up through all the physical  _and_ emotional pain. But he felt a spark of hope within him, that was quickly glowing fuller and brighter. It was giving him a reason to fight. "Tell me! What do I do to help?"

Stiles seemed to be choking for air. He made eye contact with Derek, though, and while Derek was sure that that terrible image would be stuck in his mind forever, he couldn't afford to freeze, because Stiles then stared pointedly at a spot on the ground. Derek followed his gaze until he saw  _the book_. It was lying on the ground, completely inanimate, as though it was just an empty shell. Derek lunged for it.

He expected there to be some sort of fight. But, no. He scooped the thing up easily and brought it back to Stiles, who was now wheezing and turning slightly red, his eyes twisting about in his head. Derek could practically hear the fight going on inside of him, werewolf senses aside.

"Now what? Stiles! Now what?" Derek pressed. He reached out and touched Stiles's shoulder. Instantly, Stiles sucked in a huge gulp of air, and his eyes stayed more direct.

Stiles stared at Derek's hand, then Derek's face, then back. Derek could see the gears turning in his head. "Anchor!" Stiles gasped out. His voice sounded high from whatever strain he was dealing with internally. Tears were prickling at the corner of his eyes. Derek prayed that he could be of some more help than he was right now. "Keep doing - don't let go."

Derek nodded, fixed both hands on Stiles's shoulders. He tried to absorb some pain, if he could, but it was like taking electrified lead into his veins. He pulled back with a gasp, and immediately, Stiles lurched and dropped the book open to a random page.

"Shit - sorry!" Derek yelled, as he grabbed Stiles again. He reached down with one hand to collect the book and handed it back to Stiles. Derek could feel and hear both of their hearts pounding feverishly, almost in synchronization. 

"That's it - that's the - that's the page! Derek, hold that up for me. Just like that," Stiles urged, then he screwed up his face and stared at the book as Derek did. They were toward the back of the book, Derek could see. In the curses section, if he remembered correctly. Was this all an act? Was Stiles about to curse Derek?

 _No_ , Derek thought resolutely. Stiles wouldn't, and even so, nobody could act this well.

Stiles began to murmur something to himself, like a chant, hot and breathy, and growing steadily louder. "Expel curse," he mumbled, followed by a quick gesture of his hand. "Expel curse. Expel curse. Expel curse.  _Shut up, Derek, it will work_!"

"That's not - I didn't say anything like that!" Derek yelled. But he could sense that something was going badly wrong within Stiles. The spell _wasn't_ working. His insides were frying. "Stiles, you've got to stop-!"

_BANG!_

A white-hot flash originated between the two of them and threw them apart at the speed of light. Derek went skidding across the gym, the sound of something ten times worse than a gunshot echoing in his ears. His ears were full of a deep, gut-wrenching ring, like someone tearing apart metal with their bear hands.

But he knew that he had to face whatever had just happened. He had to protect Stiles. Derek opened his eyes.

Standing before him was a man, entirely white - as white as the light that had just surged throughout the room - and at least eight feet tall. He was wearing a cloak so dark that, for a moment, Derek's eyes tricked him into thinking that the man was clouded with shadow. He was marching toward Derek, swinging his big, beefy hands determinedly.

Derek sat up and crouched into a defensive position. He had about three seconds, maybe, to figure out what he was going to do.

But it turned out to be less than that, because the man lifted his thick left hand upward, made a few striking motions, and Derek doubled over like he was coughing up a lung. Black ooze forced its way up his throat and out of him, burning the inside of him as it went. 

"You think you can come between me -  _me_ and what I've worked thousands of years to accomplish?!" the man roared, and his voice sounded as though it came from the depths of the earth. Derek coughed up more ooze. If he didn't stop soon, he wouldn't be able to breathe. It began a weird hiccuping motion, getting lodged in his throat.

"Stiles!" Derek yelled out through his strangulation. He looked up as far as he could without obstructing his projectile vomit's path to the ground. Stiles was on the other side of the court, face-up, lying in a pile of rubble, dangerously close to one of the only two fires in the room. Derek's stomach lurched, and another heavy wave of black ooze passed forward.

"I should have known to take control of that fetid tool the second you got here, animal," the man continued. "Although, I suppose I should thank you. Stiles's little pixie dust charm did work enough to give me my own body back. He should have known, just as you said, Derek, not to get tangled up in things that are so much bigger than him. He should have known not to  _bite_ off more than he could chew."

Derek willed himself to stop, to hold it down, to suck in the air he needed. He knew that he had to do something now, or both he and Stiles were going to die.

He held back as much ooze as he could, which caused a strange kind of stutter between bursts, as he lunged for the giant's head, claws outstretched. He was caught easily, by thin air it seemed, just in front of the man who emerged from the book. Close enough, that he could let it all go.

The black came from his mouth in very unattractive torrents, which stuck and dripped to the giant's face and chest. Derek growled as the man's spell broke and his lungs freed themselves. He gathered the residue in his mouth and spat it in the enraged, roaring man's face, who had dropped him and taken a booming step backward.

Derek landed on his feet, used the time it took to step forward and press the attack to collect himself, and lunged. He stuck his claws as deep as they would go into the man's chest, until, if Derek used enough strength, he could carry him if he wanted to.

Derek could feel the man's inside, could hear him shouting in so much pain, but he was entirely distracted, because what came out of the man upon Derek's claws entering was not blood. It was golden, some of it liquid, some of it gas. It flooded down past Derek and through the air around him, twinkling and ghostly. Derek searched around for some explanation, tried to keep his upper hand while the man was still incapacitated. He had to be weak from just becoming corporeal, or anyway, that was what Derek had to hope.

And, for the second time, Derek's eyes landed on the book. Except now, it felt welcoming - good, even.It was emitting the same glow as the man's chest, sending flecks of gold and light out into the air, which felt much too gentle and pure for the current situation. Derek knew what he had to do.

He lifted the colossal man with all the strength he possessed, and took a careful step toward the open book. And then another. And another. Until he was walking steadily enough that he would be there in no time. 

It felt as though the light of the book was reaching out to Derek, to the man he was carrying. Derek could hear the roar of the flames that were so close to Stiles, and he pressured himself to move faster, as fast as he could.

The second the light touched the man's body, he began to ripple, as though the fabric of reality was un-weaving him. Derek slid his claws out and stepped back, staring in awe, until he remembered Stiles. He lurched before his body gave any actual orders, and turned to Stiles as fast as he could possibly go, but still not nearly fast enough. 

Derek was at Stiles's side in a second, checking for any type of injury that would prevent Derek from being able to move him, but, for the most part, Stiles looked completely unscathed. Derek felt his heart hammer less steadily, get caught in his throat as he pulled Stiles from the wreckage. He brought him a few feet away, then settled them both down so that he could see what had become of the man from the Witch Binder.

He was gone.

Derek stared. The book was closed on the floor, with no essence of light around it. It looked like it had the day Stiles had first brought it through Derek's door, months ago. It felt just as sinister, but somehow, like it was less connected to Derek. Like Derek knew what to expect, and now he didn't have to be afraid of it, or what it contained.

Derek set Stiles, who was still blissfully knocked out, down carefully and took a step closer to the book, as though he was in some sort of dream world. He picked it up, felt the thrum of energy beneath his fingers, and stepped determinedly to the fire Stiles had been so close to. Without a moment's hesitation, Derek threw the book into the flames.

It gave a terrible half-gasp, half-shriek as the pages began to burn. The flames trickled up and around the cover and the rings, and tackled the book to rubble with bursts of heat and spouts of intensified fire. If there was something Derek had learned, it was that fire always won.

And then Derek moved back so that he could hold Stiles carefully. He started to cry happy tears as he looked down at him, at he who was very much alive and very much the man Derek loved. They had done the impossible together. And even if Stiles shut Derek out again, Derek would be okay. He would be able to rest easy, just knowing that Stiles was as far away from that book as possible.

 

+++

 

"Look, Officer, I've told you the story twice now-"

"Just once more, Mr. Hale, if you please," said the woman with her dark hair in a sleek bun. She was at least a foot shorter than Derek, but gave him a motherly tone that told him she was in charge here. _  
_

Derek half-sighed, half-groaned, and eyed the doors of the ambulance, among many others, that was across from his, warily. Stiles was sitting there, holding something against his head with his Dad standing next to him, and talking to a police officer of his own.  "Fine," he said, and flashed back to what he'd told Stiles after pulling him out to the singed lawn of the basketball court's building. "I came down to see Stiles-"

"Why?" the woman interrupted.

"Because we were in a fight, and I wanted to make it up to him," Derek carried on, the same as he had the past two times. He remembered Stiles waking up blearily, and Derek telling him to  _stay with me_ and then drilling the story into the both of their heads. "When I got here, I smelled the smoke, and I followed it. The building was on fire. I don't know how it got to be on fire. But there were people screaming and I saw that a couple of people were still inside."

"Do you remember how many people you saw outside of the building when you arrived?" the officer asked him.

"No," Derek answered truthfully. The woman gave him a polite silence that he took to mean  _okay, carry on_. "I saw that one of the people inside was Stiles. He was passed out, so I went to go get him, because I knew that if I stayed outside and called the fire department, they would get here too late. Odds were, somebody had already called anyway-"

"So why didn't you wait outside?" the woman asked, and Derek should have asked for her name again, because he was appreciating her lack of stupidity.

"Because, like I said before, Stiles is my f-friend and I needed to look out for him," Derek answered.

The officer gave him a raised eyebrow on his stumble over the word friend, but carried on nonetheless. "And what about the other boy that was in the building? You didn't think about saving him?"

Derek swallowed. "He was already dead when I got there. When Stiles woke up, he said that there had been a fight between some guys. Then the fire trucks showed up. I don't know anything els- Hey! Hey, wait, don't close that ambulance yet! Wait!" Derek yelled, and scooted past the officer as quickly as he could to get to Stiles's ambulance.

Stiles said something to a medic, then to his father as Derek approached, and suddenly, the two of them were extremely alone in this crowd of at least one hundred people.

"Are you okay?" Stiles asked quietly, staring at the ground. He had a scratch on his head and something was wrong with his ankle, apparently, but Derek could see that the real toll this had taken was on his mind.

"Stiles, I - I don't know what to say to you," Derek whispered. "I'm sorry about everything that happened. I'm sorry that I was such a-"

"Derek, don't - don't talk about it, yet, okay? About any of it. I need - I accept your apology, but Adrian," Stiles's voice broke and it was obvious that he was holding back tears as well as he could. Derek fixed his arms around Stiles's stomach as quickly and gently as he could and pulled him in. Stiles's arms went around Derek's shoulders as tears fell into Derek's neck. "I need some time to deal with everything that's happened. Alone. It's going to be a while, but I - I promise, I'll try my-"

"Don't promise anything," Derek corrected him. "I know that this was hard on you. I know, okay? And, Christ, I just need you to be okay, Stiles. That's all I need. I don't need you to be okay with me, I just need you to be okay with yourself, and I'm sorry, okay, I'm so sorry, and you're going to hear me tell you that until you kick me out of your life."

"I'm not going to-"

"Don't promise anything," Derek repeated. "Don't even think about me. Just focus on you for a little while. Get yourself back together. I love you." To Derek, he was just stating the obvious.

Stiles froze, slightly, under Derek's touch, but after a moment, he said back, so quietly that Derek almost didn't hear him, "I love you, too." A pause. "Okay, this hug is awesome and all, but I think if I don't let the EMTs take me soon they'll get so annoyed that they'll put something in my meds. But I'll see you soon, okay? Promi-" He stopped himself, looked at Derek, and sighed.

Derek spoke for him, and said, with a small smile, "See you soon."


	9. Derek Returns

**From: Beam Me Up Scotty**  
**dude im just saying**  
**hes pining**

 **To: Beam Me Up Scotty**  
**Recall correctly, a few months ago you were all for my hopping off the Derek train**

 **From: Beam Me Up Scotty**  
**not true**  
**i was just showing u ur options**

 **From: Beam Me Up Scotty**  
**but hes pining stiles**

 **From: Beam Me Up Scotty**  
**PINING**

 **From: Beam Me Up Scotty**  
**he wont shut up about you**  
**you should go see him**  
**its been four months after all**

 **To: Beam Me Up Scotty**  
**And how many months would you describe as too many, pray tell?**

 **From: Beam Me Up Scotty**  
**u know thats not what i meant**

 **From: Beam Me Up Scotty**  
**shit im sorry**

 **From: Beam Me Up Scotty**  
**pls tell me ur not ignoring me stiles i really didnt mean it**

 **To: Beam Me Up Scotty**  
**Calm down I was just texting Derek**  
**We still do that, you know.**

 **From: Beam Me Up Scotty**  
**oh**

 **From: Beam Me Up Scotty**  
**mustve been a long text**

 **From: Beam Me Up Scotty**  
**i'll have u know that i approve by the way**

 **From: Beam Me Up Scotty**  
**when u text him during pack meetings his face lights up**

 **From: Beam Me Up Scotty**  
**LIGHTS UP LIKE U HAVE GIVEN HIM THE SUN THRU HIS PHONE**

 **From: Beam Me Up Scotty**  
**ITS ACTUALLY ADORABLE**

That was when Stiles started ignoring Scott. However, he still kept a wary eye on his phone for any sign of Derek's response as he moved operation from his bedroom to downstairs. He’d been planning a _Star Wars_ marathon for weeks now, but had never actually had the time or motivation to do it. Now, his dad was out at work and a pizza was on the way. Stiles was ready for a little space adventure.

He grabbed his phone and brought it downstairs. It continuously buzzed in his hand, probably Scott continuously apologizing. Stiles checked the name but didn’t bother to look at the messages. He popped the DVD in and settles back into the couch, snuggled between the two cushion on the back so it felt like he was getting a hug. But then he realized that he wasn’t satisfied yet.

His next stop was the kitchen, because damned if Stiles wasn’t going to treat himself on his day off with perfect snacks and entertainment. The popcorn was halfway finished popping when the doorbell rang. Stiles fished a twenty out of his pocket as he ran to answer it, but it wasn’t the pizza man.

Derek was wearing jeans, a gray shit, and his leather jacket. Nothing special about it. But Stiles couldn’t help but stare - it had been four months, since he had last seen Derek, after all. He didn’t know why he was subconsciously expecting some big change between them. Stiles had buzzed his hair again - but otherwise they were still the same. He was still slightly lanky and awkward, Derek was still putting Greek gods to shame. But still, it was like something slightly thicker than air had settled between them.

Stiles sucked in a breath when he realized he’d been holding it. His eyes, which had been scanning Derek’s body, flew to his face. “Nice beard,” he said, nodding toward Derek’s scruff.

Derek’s lips twisted into a very small smile. “You cut your hair again. And your eyes look better. You seem - well, your scent is a lot healthier.”

Okay, so maybe Stiles had changed more than he thought. He backed away from the door. “Come on in,” he said, as the microwave beeped from the other room. And then, as he slid through his house to get to it, “Sorry, you caught me in my stay-at-home jeans. They have a lot of holes and will probably smell really gross because I’ve been wearing them for the past three days. I’ll go change.”

“No way,”Derek answered from the living room. “They just smell like you. Besides, I showed up unannounced. Don’t worry about it. I can see that you’re going ahead with your marathon plan.”

Stiles pulled the hissing bag out from the microwave, steam pouring from its every orifice. “Damn right I am. Popcorn?” he yelled to Derek, even though he knew that Derek would have heard him perfectly well even if he had whispered it.

He waltzed into the room a moment later with a big, green bowl of popcorn in hand, offered it to Derek. Derek took three pieces in his hand and ate them.

“So are you sticking around to enjoy this lovely occasion with me?” Stiles asked.

Derek raised his eyebrows. “Are we celebrating something?”he asked.

Stiles nodded, then said, as upbeat as he could manage, “First Thursday where I’m not in therapy, man! Of course we’re celebrating. Come on, at least stick through _A New Hope_ with me. And then, if you can resist the joys of _Empire Strikes Back_ , I fucking _dare_ you to leave.”

Derek stared at him with an expression Stiles couldn’t quite read. It was a sad, tired, loving look that threw Stiles completely out of whack. After a long moment of staring at each other, Derek nodded, mouth parted slightly.

 

\+ + +

 

Derek was seated on the right and Stiles on the left, but they were both nestled comfortably into the middle of the couch, the bowl of popcorn resting between them. Somehow, it felt odd. To not be talking about all that had happened between them, to ignore it and fixate on fictional problems instead. Stiles paused the movie just as it began.

“Christ - alright, you know that I’m not like this Derek, but should we talk about this-”

“Stiles, play the movie.”

“But-”

“I thought you didn’t want another therapy session today. I’m trying to do you a favor. I understand why you did what you did, okay? And unless you really want to talk about it, let’s just watch the movie,”Derek persisted.

Stiles glanced over at Derek. There were only a few questions dancing around in his head. “Toward the end... With... How did you feel about him?” Stiles asked. “When you saw me... I just-”

“That wasn’t you, Stiles,” Derek said. “Don’t do that to yourself. I know how you felt about Adrian.”

Stiles flinched at the name. He felt something that was stuck behind his eyes give out. He wanted to cry, but shook his head. “It was me,” Stiles insisted. “I remember everything clearly. As if it happened yesterday. I was completely in control, okay? And I did it.”

“Stiles-”

“But, this isn’t why I asked. Okay, this is why I still have my Tuesday and Saturday appointments. I asked because - because I need to know if you still... love me. Like you said you did, that night.”

Derek’s eyes flashed to Stiles, and he regarded him with careful concern. “Of course I do,” he answered softly, like he was afraid that the very breath to use the words might make Stiles shatter. “I always have. And I will until you tell me to stop.”

There was a small pause as the words sank in.

“Or until you really annoy me.”

Stiles scoffed. “You’re such a tool.” Silence for a moment, as Stiles shifted so that he was pressed into Derek. "I love you, too. And I'm glad you're here."

Derek looked like he was nearly shaking. He leaned his head so that he could kiss the top of Stiles's head. "Well, I'm not going anywhere."


End file.
